Inexplicable
by prettybirdy979
Summary: John's got a secret... A series of one shots all based around the fact that John Watson is not exactly what he seems. Named for first one-shot.
1. Inexplicable

**Disclaimer: Don't own**

**Author's Note: Written for a prompt of witch over on Livejournal... beyond that I don't know. **

* * *

It had been an accident (_well an accident in that it had not been planned. There had definitely been a conscious decision made)_. John had perfectly happy to keep his true nature to himself, to not practice his magic at all (b_ecause despite what his sister said, it didn't help anyone. It only hurt them. If they were lucky_). Even living with Sherlock, the closest quarters he had shared in a while, (e_ver, if he was truthful. Sherlock didn't know the meaning of personal space._) he had been able to keep his secret. Not without great difficulty (_He _was _the most observant person on the planet and gods was it hard to not heal every little wound he saw. But that why he was a doctor. So he could heal without exposing himself.) _but he had managed, mostly by suppressing the urge. Even so, if he hadn't stopped practicing years ago he wouldn't have been able to do it. Sherlock just always seem to have some injury or another.

Then Sherlock had gone and got himself fatally shot.

They had been chasing a suspect from a crime scene. The police were miles behind, and as always, it was all John could do to keep up with Sherlock. Then, suddenly a shot rang out though the air and Sherlock had been on the ground and John was diving at the floor (_military service had taught him that where there's one shot, there's another_) and crawling to his friend's side.

As soon as John looked at the wound he had known it was fatal. Even if they got help immediately, Sherlock was not going to survive the ambulance ride. John's tear filled eyes drifted over to Sherlock's. To his surprise they were clear, alert with only a tiny amount of pain in them. _(what to do, what to do? He could save him…but he couldn't expose magic, oh gods what to do!)_

Seeing the look in John's eyes they had closed briefly, instantly understanding what the look meant. Then reopening, they had stared at John, as if trying to communicate what Sherlock could never say.

It was that look that had made up John's mind (n_ot that it would have taken much. This was his _best friend_, and nothing could convince him to let Sherlock die while he still had the ability to save him. Nothing was worth that_). Closing his eyes he called forward the magic he normally tried to ignore and focused it on Sherlock (_and thank the gods it was All Hallows Eve or this would have impossible. Magic could only do so much_). Slowly, carefully he sought out the injury with his mind and focused his entire being on its repair. A warm glow flowed though his veins and he knew if he opened his eyes he would see his palm was glowing with the gold glow that was his magic.

The glow faded and John opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's astonished eyes again. They stared at another for a moment, unable to look away until the sounds of footsteps brought reality back to the alleyway. John got up, and offered his hand to Sherlock who took it after a moment. Even as they explained what happened to the police (w_ell an edited version by mutual, silent agreement_) and Sherlock deduced where the suspect was headed, Sherlock was staring at John as if he was a puzzle to figure out.

* * *

The next two days were a whirlwind of dashing from place to place searching for the missing suspect (w_ho turned out to be part of a gang which had frustrated Sherlock, because he should have known_). But in his spare seconds, John noticed how much more standoffish Sherlock was, how he was always staring when he knew John wasn't looking and how the banter seemed slightly forced as if he didn't know how to do it anymore.

And John panicked (_privately.)_ He began to avoid being left alone with Sherlock, always trying to have another person in the room (_and that was harder then he thought it would be. John hadn't realised how much time he spent alone with Sherlock). _In the few moments they were alone, John would either make obvious observations or offer to make tea _(anything he could think of to fill the silence)_.

So the moment they caught the criminal (w_ith Sherlock managing to cut his wrist and how John longed to heal it_), John returned to his rooms and began to pack his bags. He knew this was coming, the last person who had found out about his magic had died _(his university roommate and why had he agreed to put another person at risk after that?)_ and he didn't want that to happen to Sherlock (_plus he couldn't live with a friend who hated him for lying… as much as Sherlock could hate anyone. Emotions weren't his strong point)_.

Sherlock walked in on him closing the last bag (_and how had an almost-broke ex-army doctor managed to get so much stuff?_) and immediately deduced what was happening and why. He had met John eyes with a hurt look. John had lowered his eyes and gone to leave.

'John?'

John stopped, 'Yes Sherlock?'

'I don't understand.' That had shocked John, his head snapping around to look at Sherlock. _(Sherlock always understands, that's why he's him)_.

'What do you need to understand?'

'Everything! I know that wound was fatal, that I should be dead. I know that you somehow 'healed' the wound and now you're leaving for no discernable reason. And I don't understand…why?' Sherlock had a childlike look of confusion on his face along with a trace of anger in his eyes.

'No discernable reason? I've lied to you, and…and, I'm a… a freak!'

'I'm a freak.' Sherlock cut John's rant.

John was taken aback. 'That's…that's how you see it?' Sherlock just gave him a 'you are so stupid' look (_he was rather fond of using that look, even if it was rarely directed towards John_) and stole the bag off John. John could feel the tension from the last two days disappear _(along with the dread that had being weighting his heart down)_

'Chinese?'

With a fond smile John replied. 'Starved.'

Sherlock went to grab his coat but John grabbed his wrist and after a second's hesitation ran a glowing hand over it. Sherlock met his eyes and when the wound was gone reached for the nearest phone (_John's of course_) instead of his coat.

At John's confused look he explained. 'Facts, John. I need facts about this and I doubt you will be willing to give them to me in a crowded restaurant.'

And John rolled his eyes and sat in his favourite chair awaiting the interrogation.

* * *

And that was the end of it. After John had explained the magical world to Sherlock (_or a little bit of it, Sherlock had been able to deduce the rest_) and his powers (_healing mostly, though a family tenacity for telekinesis had resulted in small items moving when he was angry. And, of course, as a witch he could use spells_), life at 221B Baker St seemed to go back to normal. (_well, its definition of normal which now expanded to include him healing Sherlock's every wound .And Sherlock learning to duck when he was mad. Oh and the experiments Sherlock had made him do… well to be honest he had made him do those before just now he had an excuse.)_ Well until that one time with the werewolf. Or was it the time with the invisibility spell gone wrong…

* * *

**Author's Note: Hoped you liked. There's two sequels already written which should be up in the next two days and after that... well I've got no ideas but if you guys have any prompts feel free to leave them in a review! I really like this AU and would love to write more for it. =D**


	2. Casual Curses

****

Disclaimer: I do not own...

**Author's Note: The sequel, prompt of black magic. Much shorter, but still... enjoy.**

* * *

Little things. That was how it started. Little things kept falling over, off walls or just breaking randomly (_but only when Sherlock touched them. Or moved towards them. Or looked at them)_. Then the T.V exploded, covering Sherlock in glass. It had taken John half an hour to heal the injuries from that one _(well half an hour all up. It actually took three hours to get Sherlock to sit still long enough for John to use his magic)_.

After that, every little thing seemed to go wrong for Sherlock. Scotland Yard had no trouble solving cases _(and only Sherlock would think that was a bad thing)_, food went off on a regular basis _(it happened before but not like this, John would use the milk and it would be off ten minutes later when Sherlock went to use it)_, Taxis and cars seemed unable to see him and all other manner of bad luck.

But Sherlock didn't believe it. John had taken to researching Sherlock's problem in his spare time _(which wasn't much, he did lead a very active life)_ but without much success.

Then he had spotted the experiment in the freezer and all had become painfully clear.

* * *

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock looked up from his _(frantic) _search though the newspaper. 'Yes?'

'What's this?' John held up the dissected creature from the freezer.

'A dissection of a frog. Surely you can observe that?'

John took a deep breath. 'I can see more clearly than you can. This is the cause of all your bad luck recently.'

Sherlock looked confused. 'A frog?'

'Nope. Bad magic put on you by a group of pissed off trolls.'

Sherlock jumped up and re-examined the body. 'John, that's a frog.'

Sighing, John placed his free hand on Sherlock forehead and muttered a spell under his breath.

'John, what are you doing?'

'Clearing your sight.' The gold glow of John's magic settled on Sherlock's eyes, and caused him to sneeze.

Sherlock still looked confused until he looked back at the frog and saw that it had changed. It had become more humanoid, and was wearing clothes but other then that it looked like a frog.

'…Ah…umm…'

John smirked at Sherlock being lost for words. He placed the troll down on the table, only to have Sherlock pick it up to examine. 'Don't worry; the curse should wear off in a couple of weeks. And, Sherlock?'

'Yes?' Sherlock said distracted by the troll.

'I've given you magical sight, make sure you use it next time you dissect something. Fairies aren't as forgiving as trolls, and they're a lot more common.'

John laughed at the look on Sherlock's face.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm still interested in prompts if anyone has any. Is there a partiular scene/one-shot anyone whats to see?**


	3. Curiosity

**Disclaimer: I do not own...**

**Author's Note: The final one-shot I've written so far. Prompt of demon.**

* * *

'Demons.'

'Excuse me?'

'You said part of being a witch was fighting demons.'

'Not for me. I have enough demons in my life without going after real ones.'

Sherlock seemed to consider this. He gave John a long, searching stare, and, when John had returned his attention back to the T.V announced 'I want to see one.'

John spat out the tea he had been drinking. 'What?'

'I wish to observe a demon.'

'Why?'

'So I have the correct data, of course.'

'…Right. I'm not even going to argue with you.' John got up to make himself another cup of tea.

'So you'll find one for me to observe.'

'No.'

'No?'

'No. And I'm not going to change my mind on this.'

* * *

'Why am I doing this?' John stood by the cleared floor of the living room. It had a circle drawn, surrounded by candles. Sherlock was just behind him, practically vibrating with excitement.

'Because you saw the logic of my arguments.'

'You mean, I realise this was the only way to stop your arguments and sulking.'

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow and sighing, John began chanting.

_Adveho everto, ego voco vos _

_Adveho pro mihi in vestri malum _

_Adveho everto, ego dico vos ut mihi _

_In nomen of Deus ego dico vos!_

John's voice was steady, and even though Sherlock didn't understand the language he was speaking he could feel the order behind the words. For a few moments after John's voice stopped, nothing happened. Then the candles flared and blew out, and a demon stood in the centre of the circle.

It was humanoid, but malformed, with horns on his head and bumps of varying colours all over its body. It was about six feet tall, with scarlet eyes and wearing rags, which gave an impression of hell, and pain and death.

It took in its surroundings in a moment, then lifted its hand and threw a ball of fire at the two men. John pushed Sherlock out of the way and ducked.

Sherlock fell and as he landed he felt distantly the pain in his head as it collided with the kitchen table. As darkness over took him, he heard John call his name.

Sherlock awoke to John hovering over him, his hand still faintly glowing as he lifted it away. Sitting up, he noted no sign of the demon, though the floor did have a burn mark that Sherlock knew he hadn't caused.

'Curiosity satisfied now?' John asked. Sherlock could detect the relief in his voice, though it was mostly hidden by the anger.

'Quite. How did you get rid of it?'

'Hmm… oh. I threw the skull at its head.' John stood up, offering Sherlock his hand.

'Skull?' Sherlock took the hand and John helped him up.

'First thing I grabbed.'

Sherlock looked at the burn mark again, then at the skull lying beside it and finally at the man before him and began to laugh.

And John, after a moment, joined in.

* * *

**Author's Note: ...Yeah that's all I got. I'm working on filling everyone's prompts. I will welcome more. =D**


	4. Of Strangers and Knives

**Disclaimer: I don't own...**

**Author's Note: I know I said the last one was it so far... but I've had so many prompts! I'm working on filling them. This one is from livejournal who asked for... well read it and find out! =D**

**I'm still welcoming prompts. **

* * *

Sherlock got into more trouble in a week than your average witch did in a year. Which was saying something, as your average witch faced demons and all sorts of magical evils on a regular basis.

This time…well John wasn't sure what kind of danger Sherlock was in, other than that he was in trouble. _When we get out of this, we are so talking about his disappearing acts. And how NOT to do them._ John thought as the cab raced along the streets. As they drove, John was frantically texting Lestrade.

_Sherlock in trouble. First scene. Come. JW_

_On way. Do not, I repeat NOT, go in after him. Wait for us. GL_

_Sorry. JW_

_John's late._ Sherlock thought, as he looked down the barrel of the murderer's knife. The man was…well he was interesting. Using the victim's own knife as the murder weapon, carefully placing it back where it was found. Taking great care to make it seem like the victim had known their killer. It had even thrown Sherlock for a minute or two.

Then he had to go and ruin it by being boring and coming after Sherlock. It was so cliché that Sherlock wanted to scream.

And he would have… if there hadn't been a knife at his throat.

Then the door slammed open. The man jumped, causing the knife to meet Sherlock's throat briefly, leaving a red line. John was frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide.

'Sherlock…'

'Sherlock…' John wheezed out. He could clearly see Sherlock standing in the middle of the room, the man behind him, with his knife to Sherlock's throat. John recognised the knife as Sherlock's own.

_I am so teaching him to defend himself after this._ John thought, taking a cautious step forward.

'Don't move!' The man yelled, tightening his grip. John froze again. 'I mean it! Don't move.'

'I'm not moving. Look, I'm standing still.'

'A perfectly obvious statement, John. But then again, this man probably needed it.'

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he realised what Sherlock was doing. Pissing off your captors wasn't a very smart move, but it was one Sherlock did all the time. However, he didn't notice that the photo frames on the mantelpiece were starting to shake. Sherlock did, with a slight smile.

'Sherlock…' John warned.

'Shut up! Both of you!' The man shook Sherlock a bit, and the frames flew to the ground. Everyone flinched. This movement left another red line across Sherlock's neck.

'And I thought you knew how to handle a knife. Clearly I was wrong. Perhaps you aren't our killer after all. He's much too smart to be you.'

John hissed at Sherlock's stupidity. The door behind him slammed shut, but the sound was covered by the sirens of the police cars as they pulled up to the house.

'No, no, no!' The man muttered, dragging Sherlock with him to the window so he could see out.

'I guess you lose. Pity. You weren't as boring as the normal killers.' Sherlock mocked.

'I'm too smart to be caught. This is all your fault.' The man seemed to have forgotten John, as he threw Sherlock to the ground and raised the knife. Even so, John was too far away to help. Unless…

The man drove the knife downwards, towards Sherlock's heart. Except, the knife stayed where it was, hovering above them both.

The man looked at it in surprise and Sherlock used that moment to his advantage and kicked the man's legs out from under him. He fell hard to the ground as sounds of the police yelling and forcing their way came into the room. The knife fell to the ground, as John made his way to Sherlock's side.

He raised an already glowing hand to Sherlock's throat but it was pushed away as Lestrade broke the door down.

He took one look at the scene, and sighed. 'I told you to wait, John.'

John just smiled innocently.

'What were you thinking?' John turned on Sherlock as soon as they were alone at home.

'When?' Sherlock asked as he flung himself onto the sofa.

'Pissing off the guy with a knife to your throat, generally isn't a good idea.'

'But I wasn't.'

'…what?' John was thrown by Sherlock's answer.

'I wasn't 'pissing off' him. I've noticed your telekinesis works better when you're angry.'

John looked at him disbelieving. Then he squinted and every pillow in the room flew at Sherlock.

'Still proves my point.' Sherlock said through a mouth full of pillow.

He only just ducked the skull.


	5. It Runs in the Family

**Disclaimer:**

**Author's Note: This is taking over my life... Oh well. =D Prompted by Cyberbutterfly, Harry Watson and magic...at first. Then I got going and now it's the longest one-shot in the series. And involves...well read and see. =D**

**I'm still willing to take prompts. And I'm working on writting all the ones I've already been prompted, don't worry!**

* * *

Harry was an embarrassment to their parents. Frankly they both were, being witches who wouldn't (or couldn't) practice magic but John's parents at least respected the fact John chose to not practice his magic. Harry just couldn't, her drinking having mostly supressed her magic. Christmas dinners were always…fun.

So when John found out his parents were visiting him at the same Harry had told him to expect her he began mentally preparing himself.

And then he moved onto the flat.

First step was to find an excuse to get Sherlock away from the flat for a few hours. Unfortunately, this step looked to be the hardest as Sherlock had no intention of missing the opportunity of meeting three other witches, two of whom had been practicing far longer than John and one who mostly couldn't.

Finally after arguing with a brick wall _(literally_) for two hours, John gave up. He reversed the spell, and let Sherlock stay. Maybe having another person in the flat would calm his parents down.

* * *

'John! How are you, my daring?' John opened the door and engulfed in a hug from his mother, Sally Watson. Smiling, he returned the hug. Sally was a petite woman who was the same height as John, with dark brown hair and the blue eyes that John had inherited.

'I'm fine Mum.'

'That's lovely dear. Found yourself a nice girl yet?' She said as she moved back.

'Mum! You're not even in my home yet and you're already asking if I have a girlfriend.' John was shaking his head.

'Don't be like that John. Your mother is just worried about you.' John's father, Martin Watson said as he hugged John as well. He was a few inches taller than John with the same blonde hair and stocky figure, and a slightly darker shade of blue eyes.

'I'm fine at the moment without one. Come on, I'll show you my flat and introduce you to my flatmate before Harry arrives.'

John turned and was halfway up the stairs before he realised his parents weren't behind him. 'Mum? Dad?'

'Harry's coming?' Martin asked.

'Yes, she told me to expect her yesterday…'

'Which is fine. It's been ages since we saw Harry. Come on Martin, we have to meet this flatmate of John's. Ah…does he…know?' Sally had moved forward but stopped at the foot of the stairs to ask her questions.

'Yes. He found out…well it's complicated. Just say, yes he knows. And if he didn't, he would soon deduce it.'

And John made his way up the rest of the stairs.

* * *

Introducing Sherlock to his parents had been uncomfortable for everyone (_but Sherlock)._ Sherlock had deduced how long they had been married, how often they had sex (_information_ _which John did not need to know about his parents)_ and the strength of their relationship with John (_strong, but strained, probably by his choice to not practice magic and to join the army)_. John was almost relieved when Harry knocked at the door so he could leave the room.

Almost being the key word.

_I'm just glad Mrs Hudson is visiting her sister this week. This could get a little loud…_ John thought as he answered the door. Harry was as petite as her mother with the same shade of brown hair and blue eyes. In fact, the only thing she had in common with her father was his height (_which just wasn't far)_.

'Harry! How are you?'

'Great.' John flinched at the slight slur of her words showing that she was drunk. 'So, where's the flatmate?'

'Upstairs, with Mum and Dad.'

'They're here? Awesome. I haven't seen 'em in ages.' With that, she pushed pass John, and stumbled up the stairs.

* * *

As soon as Harry was in the living room, she walked up to Sherlock and peered at him. 'So you're the famous 'flatmate'.'

Sherlock ran his eyes over her briefly and flopped back into the sofa with a bored expression on his face. 'And you're drunk. Have been for at least two hours. Mostly likely, you got anxious about the fact John had said your parents were going to be here and decided to have something to calm your nerves. And you were unable to determine when to stop, which is a classic sign of an alcoholic.'

John hid a smile at Harry's expression. His smile disappeared at the look on Martin's face.

'What right do you have to say that about Harry?' He turned on John. 'What have you been saying about Harry?'

'Please, like he needed to say anything. It's obvious she's a drunk from'

'Sherlock.' John warned.

'But John!' Sherlock was actually pouting.

'No. There are some things you just don't say. Remember?'

Sherlock turned his back to everyone with a huff (_which sounded a lot like 'boring')_, curling deeper into the sofa. John smiled at his flatmate's antics but his parents just looked shocked and slightly angry.

John flashed his parents an apologetic smile, but Sherlock chose that moment to remember that there were three new witches here to experiment with. He turned back around and began examining them closely. After thirty seconds of being stared at, Martin spoke up.

'Yes?'

'Hmm? Oh don't mind me.' Sherlock went on staring.

Sally looked at her son, searching for an answer to Sherlock's behaviour. When John shrugged, she spoke up herself. 'Excuse me…but what are you doing?'

'Looking for an identifying feature. Something to show what you are.'

John's family all stiffened. Sherlock rolled his eyes at their reaction. 'Oh, come on. I know John told you I know.'

'Even so, it's not something we talk about with non-…others.' Martin stated.

'What, magic?' Again, John's family flinched.

'I don't know how much John has told you, but'

'Everything.' John cut in.

'What?' Sally stood up, angry.

'I told him everything. He wanted to know, and I trust him.' John sat up straighter in his chair.

'WHAT?' Harry stood up, her drunken state making her wobble slightly. 'Why does he get to tell a random stranger everything, and I couldn't tell my wife a thing?'

'Sherlock's not a 'random stranger'!' John defended.

'And besides, that woman wasn't anything important.' Sally said calmly.

Harry's eyes widened. 'Wasn't anything! She was my wife, the love of my life!'

'She was a woman! She couldn't be the love of your life!'

Sherlock started smiling as Sally and Harry began to get into what appeared to be a familiar fight. He was curious to see if they would involve magic (_even though John had said Harry's magic was touch and go due to her drinking supressing it… she still had it so there was the possibility_). Unfortunately, he shuffled a little on the sofa and Harry saw the movement out of the corner of her eye, drawing her attention to Sherlock.

'And you! Why do you get to know? What's so special about you?' her hand started glowing a dark grey as she pointed at Sherlock. She started muttering something, her face twisted in anger. John eyes were panicked and the three other witches were standing, as if to stop her hurting Sherlock, but unsure of what to do. They also seemed slightly shocked her magic was working.

Then she finished her spell with a shout and the chair behind her exploded in a burst of fluff and cloth. Harry frowned in confusion, twisting around to look at the damaged chair.

'Get out Harry.' John said quietly.

'What?'

'Get out. You just tried to explode my friend. I don't want you here. Get out.'

'Now John' Sally started to say.

'If you're going to side with Harry, then you can leave too.' John said quietly. 'I don't care that you guys fight at Christmas dinners and Harry blows up the tree or turns the dessert into a newt or me into a swan, but not here. Not with Sherlock an innocent person in the firing line.'

'Like he's innocent, he' Harry started to say, not recognising the tone of voice John was using.

'GET OUT!' Every light, loose object in the room jerked into the air, and began to hover. The chairs and T.V even made a half-hearted sidewards movement.

'We'll see you tomorrow for lunch.' Sally said as she and Martin grabbed their coats and daughter and left the flat.

Once they shut the front door, John collapsed into his chair, and all the floating objects drifted to their original position. John buried his head in his hands and sighed. Sherlock examined him for a moment, and then moved into the kitchen to attempt to make tea.

* * *

Sherlock placed the cup before John with a smile. He frowned when he realised John hadn't moved since he left.

'John?'

'Hmm?' John removed his head from his hands and saw the tea. 'Oh…thanks. It's not poisoned, is it?'

'Not that I know of. Of course, I was experimenting with cyanide two days ago so there are no grantees.'

'…Thanks, but I'm not thirsty.' Sherlock peered closely at John, who shuffled uncomfortable at the microscope like glance.

After a minute, Sherlock nodded to himself and stood up. 'Come on, then.'

John looked confused even he moved to get his coat. 'Where are we going?'

'To see my brother. There has to be a case of some sort he wants my help on. If not, Lestrade always needs a helping hand or two.'

'…Why?'

'I am under the belief it is hard to make a lunch date if you are working.'

John smiled as he realised what his friend was trying to do. Sherlock returned as opened the door to the stair.

He paused on the first step and turned back. 'A swan? Really?'

'Shut up.' John said as he brushed past Sherlock.


	6. Invisible

**Disclaimer: I don't own...**

**Author's Note: Written as part of NaNoWriMo...I'm not this works but it's all that's finished and I'm posting now in hope of inspiration... Got any to spare? Prompts for the series are great for this! =D**

I'm working on a few prompts already and they should be up soonish... I may need to find a beta though until mine watchs the series...Anyone interested? (slight hint there Lily... =D)

* * *

Sherlock was sitting alone in 221B Baker St staring at the wall when Mycroft arrived. Mycroft paused at the doorway, mentally double-checking if it had been today his surveillance update that had stated that Dr Watson was home. Knowing it had, he surveyed the room again.

'Dr Watson is in his room, I see. What did you say to him?'

Sherlock just continued to examine the room, his eyes now darting from item to item as though he was searching for something.

'Really Sherlock. This is childish.'

'Whatever you want Mycroft, I'm not interested. It will be bor' Sherlock suddenly stopped mid-sentence, jumping in his seat and sitting up straighter.

Mycroft frowned slightly, suspicious. 'Sherlock?'

'ing. Whatever case you have would be boring. I've got far too much to do to be bothering with some small, boring case.' Sherlock returned to examining the room.

Mycroft began to realise what had happened, but he knew he was missing a few crucial pieces of the puzzles. He opened his mouth to speak, when he noticed 'John's' chair snag slightly as if someone had sat down.

At that moment Sherlock leapt up from his seat. 'I've already told you I'm not interested. You can clear off now.' He said loudly grabbing his violin, as if to explain his reason for moving.

'I will leave, once I've deduced what it is you did to have Dr Watson cursed.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Cursed? Now who's being childish.'

'Now, now Sherlock. You call me the British government and yet you believe I don't know that there are people residing along us who have 'abilities' beyond the norm.' Mycroft shook his head a slight smile on his face.

Sherlock huffed in anger. John disembodied voice came from his chair. 'How…'

'I've had to deal with a few…incidents involving witches. Now, Dr Watson. Which witch did my brother anger?'

'You don't know?'

'My people could find her, but it would be so much easier if you two would just tell me. Then I can…persuade her to remove the curse.'

Sherlock looked directly at Mycroft at this, examining him as if he had said something odd. After a moment he broke out into a smug smile. Mycroft was taken aback by this, and glanced at where he knew John was sitting. His eyes then widened in shock.

John was completely visible, sitting in the chair as if he had always been there. He too had a smile on his face, though not as large as Sherlock's and with a hint of fear in his eyes.

Mycroft scrambled to fit the new pieces of the puzzle together. 'A timed curse. Of course.' He deduced, the smile returning to his face. It disappeared when Sherlock's smile grew larger and John frowned.

'I hate stereotypes.'

Mycroft was…confused by the off topic statement. To say the least. Sherlock saw that and his smile grew wider.

'John, shall we try that again?'

'Didn't I just win?'

'Doesn't count.' Sherlock said with a pout.

'Really?' John smiled slightly shuffling in his chair. They both appeared to have forgotten Mycroft, until Sherlock stole a glance at him.

'You cheated.'

John rolled his eyes. 'Fine. But only once more. We already know you're observant, you don't need to test it on me.' He stood up and muttered something under his breath.

And disappeared.

Mycroft blinked. It took him a second to begin fitting the puzzle pieces to get the fact that John, quiet, boring, _male _John Watson was a witch. Well when he said boring…

His thoughts were broken into by Sherlock throwing a pillow across the room. It sailed towards the skull but hit something…_no John,_ Mycroft corrected, in mid-air.

John reappeared slowly, clearly grumpy. 'Thanks Sherlock. You could have, you know, just said you knew where I was.'

'Boring.'

'So will you take the case?' Mycroft broke in.

John eyes darted to him. '…You're not going to say anything about...you know?'

'Would you like me to?'

'No. No.' John said quickly. 'It's fine.'

'The case.' Mycroft stood and handed the folder to John. 'Information on it is all contained inside it.' He looked John over for a second; still trying to reconcile him with the picture he had in his head of a witch.

'I told you I hate stereotypes.' John spoke quietly.

Mycroft smiled the first genuine smile since arriving. 'I can understand that.'

There was an understanding silence in the room for a moment, before Sherlock broke it. 'You can't have him.'

'Excuse me!' John sputtered.

Sherlock ignored him. 'You can't have him for any little 'problems' you have. I won't allow it.'

'I rather think that would be up to him.' Mycroft said softly. 'Dr Watson, if you ever get tired of Sherlock I'm sure'

'I'm fine.' John cut in, slightly angry.

Mycroft nodded at him. 'I must be off. Look over the case Sherlock.'

Mycroft turned his back and headed for the door. He could hear furious whispers behind him but he ignored them. He knew John wouldn't ever take him up on his offer, was counting on it actually.

Then the pillow hit him in the back of the head. He paused, and then continued out the door. _Sherlock is so childish._

He ignored the fact that Sherlock hadn't moved, and all the pillows were near John.

_My brother is a bad influence. _


	7. Flatmates and Dragons

**Disclaimer: Do not own.**

**Author's Note: Written for HadesLordoftheDead's prompt of Dragon. Sorry about the wait, but I've found a beta. =D**

* * *

'John, why is there a cat carrier in the middle of the room?' Sherlock was standing in the doorway to the flat staring at the cat carrier, trying to puzzle it out.

'Because Cat's here and that's how I got him here.' John walked in from the kitchen, smirking and holding two cups of tea.

'And whose cat is it?'

John raised an eyebrow. 'How do you know it belongs to someone else? It could be mine. Anyway...'

'Possible, but you're not a cat person.' Sherlock cut in.

John got side-tracked by this statement. 'How do you know I'm a dog person?'

'There was a dog at the last crime scene that you liked. And you hated Connie Prince's cat, though that could have just been that particular cat.'

'How…never mind. Yes Cat is Harry's. I'm looking after him while she's away.'

'Paris.' Sherlock stated, then frowned as something John had said registered with him. 'Why are you using a capital 'C' when referring to the cat?'

'I'm not even going to ask how you knew that.' John collapsed in his chair.

'You haven't answered my question.'

'What? Oh… I'm using a capital because Cat is his name.'

'A cat called Cat. How dull.' Sherlock flopped down on the sofa facing John.

John looked up at Sherlock frowning. He concentrated for a second, clearly rerunning the conversation in his head. 'Sherlock…when did I say Cat was a cat?'

'You implied it.' Sherlock sat up.

'Yes, but I didn't mean to.'

'So Cat is a dog then. Slightly more ironic name then, but still dull.' Satisfied, Sherlock went to lie down again where he saw John's smirk.

'Wrong?' he asked.

'Wrong.' John confirmed. 'Cat isn't a dog. Cat is a...'

Just then there was a bump from the stairwell. Seconds later a very unhappy, sky blue dragon walked out into the living room. It was about the size of a cat, which explained the use of the cat carrier, with wide bright green eyes and sharp looking golden claws. It had a pair of small wings folded by its side and when it opened its mouth, Sherlock could see sharp white teeth.

'...dragon.' John finished. 'Cat, what did you do to yourself?' The little dragon huffed, and rustled its…_his_ wings and walked over to John's chair. He looked up at John with wide eyes, giving him a low whine when he didn't move.

'No, you're not getting any sympathy from me. It's not my fault you tried to fly when you know your wings aren't strong enough to fly.' The dragon huffed again and turned his glaze to Sherlock.

'Don't try for sympathy from him Cat. I already told you the rules.'

Sherlock had had enough of being left out of this strange conversation. 'Explain. Now.'

'Cat is my sister's dragon. She adopted him after Clara left and someone left his egg on her doorstep. I agreed to look after him while she's in Paris. After all, it's not like she could drop him off at a pet sitter for the week.'

'He understands you.'

'He understands us. He speaks English…well a version of it. It can get a little garbled sometimes.'

Sherlock was taken aback. 'He speaks…English?'

'Yes, but not often. You can get the basic idea of what he would be saying from his body language.'

The little dragon was now standing in front of Sherlock, looking up at him with big eyes. _John's right, it's quite clear what he wants._ Sherlock reached a hand down and picked up the dragon.

Cat made a satisfied noise, which quickly turned into a noise of complaint when Sherlock began to examine him from all angles. He turned his head to look back at John who had a long-suffering smile on his face. It quickly became genuine at whatever the little dragon said.

'Sherlock, I don't think Cat likes being manhandled like that.'

Sherlock held the dragon out in front of him and looked him in the eyes. They stared at another for a moment, and then Cat suddenly lashed out and sunk his teeth into Sherlock's hand. Instead of dropping Cat as was expected, Sherlock held on tighter, ignoring the pain in his hand. Cat continued to stare at him, respect growing in his eyes as Sherlock's hand began to bleed.

'Cat! Let go of Sherlock.' John ordered, when it became clear Sherlock wasn't letting go. Cat ignored him, choosing to sink his teeth in deeper. Sherlock winced slightly but just held on tighter, refusing to let the little dragon win.

'CAT!' This time there was something extra in John's voice, a layer of magic that even Sherlock found hard not to obey. Cat growled but removed his teeth from Sherlock's hand. Smiling, Sherlock let Cat go, causing him to drop to the ground with a squeak. In a pile on the ground, Cat looked up and glared at Sherlock. John flinched slightly at something, most likely whatever the little dragon was saying.

'Cat, you are in a lot of trouble. You know better than to bite people! And you!' John turned on Sherlock ready to chew him out when he spotted the blood running down Sherlock's hand. Grimacing, he grabbed Sherlock's hand and ran his own glowing one over it, healing the wound.

Sherlock gave him a slight smile in thanks.

'Just don't experiment on him.' John said softly. 'I know I let you experiment on me and I'm quite happy to, but he's only a baby and well…he doesn't really understand.' John looked pleadingly at Sherlock.

'Fine.' Sherlock answered, flexing his healed hand. 'But you're the one who's going to have to hide him from everyone.' With that, he pushed past John and headed for his room.

John's eyes widened as he realised exactly what he had gotten himself into. 'Sherlock, you have to help me. Sherlock!'

* * *

There was an understanding soon reached between Sherlock and Cat. Each ignored the fact that the other one existed and no one got hurt. It was a bumpy truce, founded on hours of John complaining about the petty tricks and actions they committed on each other, including Cat ruining Sherlock's experiments and Sherlock ruining Cat's dinner in revenge.

This bumpy truce went out the window the day John disappeared.

John had gone to work early that day, leaving Sherlock and Cat alone. Luckily, Cat wasn't an early riser and Sherlock had already slept enough that week so they didn't have anything to do with another until about midday when Cat dragged himself out of bed, grumpy and hungry.

Of course John had left food for his breakfast or lunch, whichever happened first but it required Sherlock to serve it. And Sherlock had no plans to help 'the creature' as he had dubbed it.

Even when the creature decided to attach its teeth to his leg. Repeatedly, and in different locations but never breaking the skin having learnt his lesson last time. Sherlock was used to ignoring his body's needs and demands and would have continued to ignore Cat if the creature hadn't decided to try a new plan of attack; namely, threatening to urinate in the chemical experiment on the kitchen table.

'You wouldn't dare.' Sherlock stated, and then double checked his opponent. 'No wait, you would, you already have. You know John wants us to get along and would illogically take your side.' He stood up with a huff. 'Fine, I'll get you your food.' He grabbed the plastic container John had indicated but then stared at it, unsure of the next step. He looked over at the dragon on the table. 'Well?'

Cat nodded his head at the microwave. Sherlock opened it up, put the container in and closed the door. He then hesitated not quite sure what number to put in. Cat chirped three times. 'Of course.' Sherlock set it for three minutes and pressed start. Tapping his fingers against the bench he ran his mind over his latest case, a small problem from Mycroft while the microwave ran. His eyes widened as his mind suddenly figured out the solution.

As soon as it was finished he threw the container down before Cat, barely stopping to take the lid off, before he was running over the case files and smiling when it confirmed his thoughts.

_Brother in France with lover. Lover took files while they were last visiting and your man only just missed them. Why was this hard? SH_

_Evidence? Mycroft._

_The handbag in the last family photo. It's too bulky. Search their hotel and you'll find the plans. SH_

_Of course. How's 'Cat'? Mycroft._

_You can't have him. SH_

Sherlock looked up from his mobile to find Cat sitting on John's chair staring at him. He was just getting in a staring completion with the creature when the front door slammed and footsteps came up the stairs. Sherlock knew they weren't John's and quickly indicated for Cat to go upstairs. Cat, grumbling, complied knowing what would happen if he didn't.

Lestrade didn't bother knocking but burst into the flat, frantically looking around. He looked slightly surprised to see Sherlock sitting there.

'Where?' Sherlock asked, deducing from his harried appearance that it was a murder.

'Where's Dr. Watson?' Lestrade ignored Sherlock's question.

'At work.' Sherlock said with distain, confused by the question.

'No he's not.'

'He's not?'

'It's why I'm here. He didn't show up for work today. They tried calling him and got an odd message. When they couldn't get you, remembering what happened last time you two went missing, Sarah called me.'

'What's the message? And why did you give Sarah your number?' Sherlock fired at the confused policeman.

'Umm…when you two got blown up, I met her at the hospital. I gave her my number then so she could contact me directly if something happened.'

'And the message?'

Lestrade pulled out his phone and dialled John's number. He put it on speaker and the two listened as it rang out. Sherlock looked over the D.I's shoulder and saw Cat hiding behind John's chair with only his tail visible.

Then John's voice came over the speaker as his voicemail picked up. _One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. Not a rhyme but just in time. Can you find the witch? Or will you lose your pet, my pretty.*Beep*_

Sherlock blinked as Lestrade hung up. 'That doesn't appear to make sense. Meaning it's a message, most likely to me, shown by the use of the 'pet' name Moriarty used to describe John when we last met. John is distressed, but hiding it well, probably under Moriarty's orders.'

'How could you tell?'

'I know John. "One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish"… what could that mean?'

'I know it…it's a children's book. I read it to my children at night. It's by Dr Seuss.' At Sherlock's blank look Lestrade continued. 'A famous children's author. John was right about how much you don't know, wasn't he? So...what are we looking for? What does he mean by witch?'

'A children's author… hmm.' Sherlock ignored the inspector and grabbed his phone and googled the book. He mouthed the words of the book to himself as he thought over it.

_The 'witch' reference is obvious, he's letting me know he knows what John is. The time bit is to state there's a time limit, but he's not telling us what. Hmm... where can you see a whole lot of people who have come a long way... Airport. Easy. Now, where is John?_

Cat gave a soft, sad chirp causing Lestrade to look around. 'What was that?'

'What was what?'

'…Nothing.'

'Well, Moriarty is going after an airport. Hadn't you better go and protect them all?'

'Oh come on Sherlock. How on Earth do you know that?'

'The poem from the book. It describes a wide variety of fish, which Moriarty clearly means to stand in for people. The only place to be sure to see a variety of people who "have come a long, long way" is the airport.'

Lestrade looked torn for a moment, then turned on his heels and rushed out, leaving Sherlock alone to try and figure out where John fit into all this.

_I can help you._ A soft voice spoke in Sherlock's mind. If Sherlock had been a normal person he would have jumped, but instead he just tightened his grip on his phone. He quickly deduced this was the method of speaking that John had referred to.

'How?'

_I can find Master. I can smell where he went._

'I could get a dog to do as much. It would be much less conspicuous.'

_Dog? Dog is silly. Would dog be able to follow the scent where ever scent went, no matter what goes over scent? I can follow scent…you just need to help me hide._

Sherlock smiled. 'That, I can do.'

_

* * *

_

Won't people notice your bulky coat?

'No, people are idiots who see but don't observe. Now you're sounding like John. Just get in, and don't move.'

Cat huffed and climbed inside Sherlock's coat. Sherlock did it up around himself; hiding the dragon but making him seem twice his size. _I'm going to have to make sure no-one I know sees me. Even they couldn't fail to see this. Unless…_he quickly pulled on a hat, swooped down to hide his height and grabbed a different coat, slightly more used. He was now unrecognisable.

He calculated the chances of Mrs. Hudson seeing him if he went out the front door, realised it was high and opted for the window instead. Cat gave a small noise of complaint as they landed but otherwise didn't move.

He moved along the street quickly, blending into the crowd. Cat was silent as they walked along John's route to work. Suddenly he huffed and shifted his weight to the right, the signal to go in that direction. Sherlock turned down the alley to his right and halfway down found the indicators of a fight. He stopped to examine the scene but Cat spoke up.

_Don't stop. Keep going! I still can follow Master._

'He was knocked out and dragged into a car. How can you still follow him? He isn't leaving a scent anymore.'

_I'm not following his scent. I'm following Master's magic. No one can hide Master's magic, not even if they use a screamer._

'Scream… of course, a car.'

Cat shifted slightly, and Sherlock continued. They followed a series of twisting turns and doubling back, many of which went along streets without cameras.

Finally, they came across a quiet street with no visible cameras. Cat had been getting more and more excited as they went along and Sherlock knew without him speaking that John was somewhere in the area. Most likely in the house with the two guards, hiding in both the darkness of the street and front garden.

_Now, what? _

Sherlock smiled. 'We go get what they stole from us.'

* * *

Moriarty had prepared for everything. He had enough snipers there to start a war, with armed thugs to back them up. There were protection charms all around, to stop 'evil' magic getting in and a few anti-magic charms to keep 'good' magic getting out.

What he didn't predict or prepare for was an angry little dragon who wanted his master back and a sociopath who was quite willing to let him kill to do it. And even helped plan his attack.

* * *

'I know what you are Johnny Boy. So don't think that's going to help.' John looked up at Jim his eyes filled with rage. Jim had sent ten men to abduct him on his way to work and while John had managed to injure all of them and subdue three, he had not been able to stop the kidnapping. So now he was tied to a chair with a horrible tasting gag in his mouth and a pounding head that was making concentrating hard.

'See this?' Jim held a piece of metal in front of John's face and it took a moment for him to focus on it. He shivered when he recognised it. It was an anti-magic charm, straight from the middle ages when they burned people for their magic. It had been heavily cursed, John could feel the evil magic rolling off it without touching it.

'See, I knew you would know what it was. Do you know what it is, Sherlock?' Jim turned around to face Sherlock, who had John's gun out and was pointing it at Jim.

'I would ask you how you knew I was here but that would be obvious.'

Jim smiled. 'Very good, Sherlock. Though I must wonder how you got past all my little friends…I expected you to be dragged in.'

Sherlock just cocked the gun.

'Aww, Sherlock. Don't be like that. We've only just started the game and here you are. You cheated and skipped ahead to the end. And you know what happens to cheaters…'

_I don't. Master, what happens to cheaters? _

Moriarty froze momentarily as Cat's voice sounded in everyone's mind. Sherlock took advantage of that moment and used it to fire the gun directly though Moriarty's head.

'Game over.' Sherlock stated, calm and collected. 'I win.' Dropping the gun, he moved over to John and pulled the gag out of his mouth while untying the knots. John looked up at him, awe and joy in his eyes. Cat was running in circles around the pair yelling _I found Master, Master is safe! _andoccasionally stopping to sniff Moriarty's body.

'Sherlock…' John started then stopped, unsure of how to continue.

'I know. We have to call Lestrade, make sure none of Moriarty's plans continue, and help round up his "gang".' Sherlock said in a tone that suggested exactly how boring he found all those activities.

'Thank you.' John said softly as Sherlock freed his last tied-up limb. They shared a moment of relief before Cat chose that moment to throw himself at John's lap.

_Master! _He also succeeded in knocking the chair, John and himself to the ground while also hitting Sherlock's legs with his tail, causing a stunned Sherlock to follow them down.

Laughing at the twin expressions on Sherlock's and Cat's faces John set about fixing up the mess they were in.

* * *

Harry was due to come back today. It had been a month since she had left Cat with them and really, even Sherlock had begun to dread this day. Cat had become a part of the craziness that was 221B Baker St and it was hard to imagine the place without him.

John had been busy all day, packing every last one of Cat's things, a task made more difficult by Cat unpacking them whenever he wasn't looking. Cat had gotten the hang of flying and every time John went to berate him he would flap either out of John's reach or hide behind Sherlock who was more than willing to protect him from John if it meant he stayed. After all, he wasn't likely to come back when he was old enough to experiment on... at least that's the reason Sherlock told himself to justify protecting Cat.

A knock at the door came at about three o'clock and John stood to let Harry in. Sherlock eyed her a little wearily, remembering that she had attempted to blow him up last time they met.

Harry, however, only had eyes for Cat. 'Cat! How is my little baby-poo?'

Cat just huffed, and flapped up so he was sitting on the bookshelf.

'He can fly? He can fly!' she turned on John. 'You never mentioned he had learnt to fly!'

'It's only just happened. You wouldn't have gotten my message until after you got home.'

Harry stared at her brother for a second, then frowning she grabbed Cat's things and called him. 'Come on Cat, time to go. Get into the carrier; I've got so much to tell you!'

_Won't go. I like it here with Master._

Harry looked shocked at Cat's statement while John and Sherlock hid gleeful smiles.

'What do you mean you won't go? Cat, get in there.' As Harry spoke, Sherlock noted the extra layer to her voice, the commanding magic that John had only used on Cat when there was immediate danger. Cat whined, his head pulled back as far as possible as his feet moved of their own violation towards the cat carrier.

'Harry!' John's spoke, his eyes firmly on Cat. 'What are you doing?'

'Teaching him right and wrong. He has to know when I tell him to do something, he does it. You've spoiled him.' Harry had a disappointed note to her voice.

'No, but you've abused him. Harry, Mum and Dad taught us better than this. You know the rules! Magic is never to be used to control another.'

'You've done it. You've controlled people with your powers.' Harry's voice was low and angry.

'Only to save a life.' John's voice was just sad. 'And I won't let you take Cat if this is how you're going to treat him.'

'He's mine!' The pile of papers behind Harry exploded and Sherlock found himself grabbing Cat from the cat carrier and heading for the relative safety of the kitchen. Cat gave him a grateful look, glad to be out of the line of fire.

'No, he's himself. Harry, you know all about dragons. They belong to no one, answer only to those they respect and care for. Cat is a baby, but as he grows if you continue to treat him like this he will kill you.'

'He wouldn't dare.'

John sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them there was a steely determination present. 'I'm sorry.' He said.

'For what?' Harry asked confused.

John didn't answer, rather he started to mutter quickly under his breath. Harry's eyes widened as she realised what he was doing. With a shout, John finished the spell he was saying and raised his hand at Harry. She disappeared in a cloud of gold smoke and John staggered, his skin now pale and clammy. Sherlock dropped Cat and only just made it into the room in time to catch John as he fainted.

Minutes later John came around. Sherlock had managed to get him lying on the sofa and was now sitting in John's chair, Cat in his lap.

'What did you do?'

'Sent her home.'

'Teleportation?'

'Yes.' John sat up, the colour slowly returning to his cheeks.

'And you fainted because?'

'Because I used too much of my magic. There's a reason I've never used teleportation for us, it takes a lot of energy simply to move across the room. Getting Harry across London…well you saw what it took.'

_Don't do that again, Master. You smelt weird._

John smiled a small smile at the little dragon's word. 'I'll try not to.'

'You will not.' Sherlock said with absolute certainty.

* * *

And that was that. Cat became a permanent resident at 221B Baker Street, forcing John to reveal his existence to Mrs Hudson. Sherlock wasn't sure how John managed to hide his status as a witch, but once the shock of seeing a real life dragon was over Mrs. Hudson accepted John's explanation of Cat being a genetic mutation without question. She even agreed to look after Cat when John and Sherlock were out and began to teach him how to cook, saying that someone up there had to learn.

Not that Cat ever figured out the microwave.


	8. Saving Face

******Disclaimer: I don't own**

******Author's Note: Prompt of Black Cat by . This was going to be lighthearted and short, but then the plot showed up and brought with it angst and now its...well this. **

John was a brave man. He could stare down the guns of killers, survive endless nights of battles in Afghanistan and live with Sherlock Holmes for longer than a week without running away screaming. Everyone at the Yard knew this, and frankly no one there thought that he could be afraid of anything. Especially not after they performed a drug-raid or two and saw what Sherlock kept in his flat.

So when John's greatest fear was revealed it was a big shock to everyone.

They were at a new crime scene, one where a young child, a pretty little girl with pigtails and wearing a pink tutu, had disappeared. Her parents were off to one side, having been looked over by Sherlock and declared to be innocent. He was now darting all over the scene, searching for clues as to where the girl had gone while John was talking with Lestrade.

Suddenly John stopped talking and went stiff, his eyes frozen on something just behind Lestrade's shoulder.

'John? What is it?' Lestrade turned around, but was unable to see what had caused John to freeze. All that was there was the girl's collection of stuffed toys by the cupboard, her pet cat which was sitting on the window still cleaning itself, and her unmade bed with its frilly pink doona and yellow sheets.

John just shuddered and turned to Sherlock. 'Meet you outside.'

Sherlock's eyes snapped to John, his focus diverted. 'Nonsense. I need you here.'

'No you don't.' John quickly made for the door, when Sherlock yelped in delight. 'What is it?' he asked, turning back around, lowering his hand which had been reaching for the door.

'The cat!' Sherlock pointed at the black cat sitting on the window sill. He rolled his eyes at everyone's blank stares. 'She had the cat with her, tries not to go anywhere without it. It will have evidence about her kidnapper.'

'Right.' Lestrade said. 'Come on then, we had better catch that cat. John?'

'I would rather not.' John was still standing by the door, his eyes watching the cat's every move.

'You allergic?' Lestrade asked with sympathy in his voice.

'You're not allergic.' Sherlock answered for John. 'And you're not scared of cats, you didn't mind the one at Connie Prince's…'

He trailed off at John's guilty look. 'You are scared.' Sherlock said with disbelief.

John smiled awkwardly. 'I don't like cats, never have. But black cats…' he shivered. 'They just creep me out completely.'

'I didn't take you for the superstitious type, John.' Sally said gleefully, having entered the room in time to catch the tail end of the conversation.

John smiled nervously, his eyes still on the cat. 'There's a lot you don't know about me detective.'

* * *

'So?' Sherlock asked later, when they were back in their flat. They had found the little girl in a neighbour's basement. She had taken the girl to stop her beating the woman's daughter in the public speaking competition the next day. John had shaken his head at the cruelty and pettiness of people.

'So what?' John replied from his chair where he was typing up the case on his laptop.

'Why black cats? I assume there's a magical reason why you're afraid of them or you would have explained your fear to the Yard.'

John looked sheepish. 'Well...yeah.'

'So? What is it? I don't like having to guess, but I will do it if you don't tell.'

'What, you can't deduce it?' John smirked like this was amusing.

Sherlock huffed. 'I've found that in the world of magic, logic rarely applies. But I can try, if you wish.'

John nodded his assent. Sherlock began to stare at his friend, running his eyes up and down. 'You've had the fear since you were small, no older than ten for it to be so deep rooted that you still have it now and are unwilling to desensitise yourself to it.'

'Right. I was six when...'

'No, no don't say anything.' Sherlock cut in and John slammed his mouth shut. 'Hmm… it has something to do with magic, as I've already established or you would have been more forthcoming with an explanation.' Sherlock stopped there and looked at John with expectation.

'That it?'

'I couldn't possibly deduce any more without being a witch myself or far more acquainted with your world.'

'You've managed to piss off every magical creature you've met except me and Cat. I don't think you need to be any more acquainted with my world then you already are.' Sherlock just stared at John, ignoring his rant, waiting for his answer.

'Fine. When I was six I found this black cat on the street. I was alone, just outside our house. I went to pat it and it…changed.' John shivered, pausing for a second.

How?' Sherlock demanded.

'I'm getting there! It became this monster, all black and with eyes…' John trailed off, clearly caught up in his memories.

'What happened then?' Sherlock asked after a second when it became clear John wasn't going to continue without being prompted.

John shook his head to clear it of the memory then continued. 'It grabbed me and teleported. Took me to some tunnel somewhere. Turned out to be the sewer, but I didn't know that at the time. I was only just coming into my powers and I really didn't have any way of fighting it - the demon - off. It locked me in a box with a couple of other children. I didn't know any of them, but I remember the little girl from the paper Daddy had been reading that morning.' John was clearly getting caught up in the memories again, his voice regressing slightly.

'How did you get out?' Sherlock asked quietly. John started slightly, seemly having forgotten Sherlock was there.

'My Dad. He had seen all the disappearances in the papers and realised what was behind it. He came after the demon. Didn't know until after he had beaten it that I had been its next victim. I'll never forget the look of shock, fear and relief on his face when he came to rescue the children and saw me hiding in the corner with them. Neither he or Mum let me out of their sight for a solid month after that.'

'And the nightmares?'

'Lasted another year after that. And I've never liked cats, especially black cats since.'

Sherlock nodded. He went to collapse on the sofa, happy now he knew but he saw the look on John's face.

'Tea?' he offered.

John smiled. 'Love some.'

Sherlock nodded and headed into the kitchen. Seconds later, he popped his head out. 'Where's the tea?'

Smirking, John went to help.

* * *

The gossip of John's greatest fear went around the Yard like wildfire. Within a week, every copper who knew him had heard the story and they were all laughing, if slightly shocked a man as brave as John was afraid of something so small. Some of them, Anderson among them, thought John had just been trying to get sympathy, and so had decided to have a bit of fun with it.

So at the next 'drugs-bust' Anderson had brought along a small black cat stuffed toy. John had been upstairs when they arrived and Anderson volunteered to search the living room. Ignoring the safe as per orders, he had hidden the cat beneath John's Union Jack pillow while Sherlock and Lestrade had been arguing over evidence and Sherlock's habit of leaving everyone in the dark. Smiling, he had moved into the kitchen to search there.

John had come downstairs, sighed at the scene he found and sunk down into his chair. Frowning at the slight bulkiness of the seat beneath him he had reached behind him and pulled out the black cat.

He froze. Sherlock caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes, looked up and spotted the cause. In a second he was across the room and had grabbed the offending toy. Everyone in the room stopped their search as they realised John was hyperventilating.

'John, John. You're fine, there's nothing here to hurt you.' Sherlock muttered into his friend's ear softly, his hands on John's shoulder. John's eyes moved to the cat still in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock spotted the movement.

He smiled grimly. Then he calmly walked into the kitchen, shoved the toy into the microwave, slammed the door and pressed start. One policeman made a noise of complaint, but Sherlock glared briefly at him and he shut up.

John stood shakily. 'I'll just go…the bathroom…' he trailed off and after an awkward moment he fled from the room. As soon as he was gone, Sherlock rounded on Anderson.

'Why did you do it?'

'You don't...' Anderson began to protest.

'Yes, I do. Why did you do it?' Sherlock said dangerously.

'I…I thought it was a joke. That he was acting…or playing up the strength of his fears.'

Sherlock's eyes flashed. 'Don't ever do that again. And in case the rest of you Neanderthals even think about trying this trick again, remember this. John was abducted as a child by a serial killer who liked children and used a black cat as his lure. And I will personally destroy anyone who reminds him of that part of his life again.'

With that, Sherlock swept out of the room, heading for the bathroom, leaving a group of shell shocked policemen behind him.

The microwave beeped, breaking the silence, the toy inside flaming and melting in the heat.

* * *

Sherlock found John standing in the bathroom with the tap running, splashing water on his face. He was still breathing deeply and the shampoos in the shower were all floating sideways. Sherlock stared at them for a second, noting how they kept bopping up and down as John breathed in and out then turned to look John in the eyes via the mirror.

'Is the part where I ask if you are alright, despite knowing for a fact you aren't?'

John smirked humorously. 'Yes.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Right then. Are you alright?'

'If I said I was would you believe me?'

'No.' Sherlock raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning John's intelligence.

'Then no, I'm not alright.'

'Why not?'

John looked shocked. 'Why not? I don't know, maybe because I was made to look a weakling in front of all of Scotland Yard. Or maybe because I forced to relive one of my worst memories because some idiot thought it would be funny. And I know it's going to happen again.'

'It won't.'

'How do you know?'

'Because I informed them of the reason behind your fear… an edited version of course.'

John groaned. 'Great. Now they're going to look at me with pity.'

Sherlock was confused. 'Isn't it better they know the reason behind your fear so they won't decide to do it again?'

John heard what he was really asking; _did I do something not good?_ 'Yes… I just wish…' he trailed off not quite sure what to say.

'You wish it hadn't happened.' Sherlock, as usual, got to the heart of the matter. John nodded. Sherlock seemed to think this over for a second, and then turned to go downstairs, a determined look on his face.

'Where are you going?' John asked.

'I'm going downstairs to rip Anderson's heart out.' Sherlock said seriously, without a drop of humour in his eyes.

'What, why?' John turned away from the sink as the items in the shower dropped to the ground.

Sherlock stopped in the doorway, and John grabbed his arm to stop him leaving.

'He hurt you, so I'm going to hurt him. It's logical.'

John was touched. He was also a little disturbed, but the sentiment was there. 'Sherlock, I'm touched you care so much, but I don't want Anderson dead, or even for you to hurt him.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Not at all?'

'Not at all. Besides, I would rather watch him squirm through whatever punishment Lestrade doles out.'

'And Mycroft as well.' With that, Sherlock pulled his arm out of John's slack grasp and headed downstairs.

'What's Mycroft got to do with it? Sherlock!'


	9. Unusual Magic

****

**Disclaimer: Do not own.**

**Author's Note: Prompt by Cyberbutterfly. I'm not sure if it'll give the story away so I won't mention it.**

* * *

It didn't matter how many times John tore into Sherlock for disappearing, for getting himself into situations where only John's timely arrival saved his life; Sherlock would still do it. He would choose to put his life into John's hands, to trust that John would always find him. And while it was flattering that Sherlock trusted him so much, John wished he would find a slightly less deadly to show his trust.

Plus he could stop feeling like he was in a never-ending time loop where the same things kept happening, just with different people.

This time Sherlock was chasing another serial 'suicide' killer. This woman was luring her victims to rooftops with the promise of a good time then surprising the man and pushing him off the building, making it look like a suicide. It was only when she had dropped a handkerchief at the crime scene that anyone had noticed someone else was there and had called Sherlock in. He had quickly linked the cases together and picked up that she had been killing at least once every six months for the last ten years.

And now he had run off to confront her, disregarding the fact he was her typical victim.

John had been left to chase after him, not really worried as he was sure Sherlock could care for himself. Until Lestrade had texted Sherlock's phone, left with John, to tell him that the latest autopsy had shown traces of chloroform. Apparently she weakened her victims, and then when the drug was mostly out of their system she pushed them off.

And John had started to worry. He immediately had begun to run over Sherlock's notes, looking for any sign of where he had gone. Frantically he turned their flat upside down, until Cat had pointed him to the map of London and he had spotted what Sherlock had. All the buildings she chose didn't have security cameras, but put on a map they formed circles.

John traced the last circle until he found the building he knew Sherlock had identified and then he was off, dashing down the stair and out onto Baker Street, screaming for a taxi.

The journey there took very little time but it seemed ages to John. As soon as the taxi stopped, he threw a note at the driver knowing it was more than the fare but not caring. He barely stopped to shut the door before he was dashing up the doorsteps. Looking up, he saw Sherlock standing on the roof his back to the edge. John could see him walking backwards and realised he was going to be too late.

He tried anyway. John nearly pulled the door off its hinges as he dashed up the stairs. Praying he would be on time. _Please let me get there in time, please, please. PLEASE!_

There was a rush of colour around John, a heave in his stomach and suddenly he was standing on the roof behind the woman. Sherlock was facing him and his eyes widened at John's sudden appearance but John had ignored him. Instead he had put his current momentum into a tackle, knocking the woman to the ground. The gun she had had in her hand went flying over the side.

'Call Lestrade, Sherlock.' John had restrained the woman while throwing Sherlock his phone. He was a little shocked when Sherlock followed his orders but he ignored it so as to keep the struggling woman from moving.

* * *

It was later, back at the flat with Cat asleep in John's lap that he had remembered to ask Sherlock what had happened on the rooftop.

'Sherlock?'

'Hmm?'

'What was wrong…on the rooftop I mean?'

Sherlock looked up from his laptop. 'What do you mean?'

'You know what I mean. You weren't yourself which means there was something wrong.'

'Very astute John. You teleported.'

John looked confused as he ran over the night's events again. 'I did?'

'Yes. You just appeared on the rooftop and I…was a little thrown.'

'I didn't mean to. It just happened. One minute I was running up the stairs, the next I was behind her.'

Sherlock put his laptop to one side, interested as always in talk of magic. 'Does that often happen?'

'What, my magic doing things it's not supposed to? No, not really.'

'What happened then?'

'I'm not sure…'

Cat suddenly rolled over and fell off John's lap with a thump and undignified squeak. John and Sherlock both laughed at the look on his face and forgot about their conversation.

And if John managed a few feats of magic he shouldn't have… well it was just chalked up to adrenaline.


	10. To Touch the Sky

****

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Sherlock BBC show..**

**Author's Note: For the prompt by both and Wishywashy of broomstick. =D**

**

* * *

**

For John's thirty-eighth birthday he got five presents. His parents and Harry went in together to buy him a magical book of spells which Sherlock promptly stole and made a careful study of. Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and a couple of other police officers who liked him went in together to get him a few things he needed, like a warmer wardrobe. John wasn't sure what was scarier, that they knew what size and style to get him or that all those acquaintances of his were familiar enough with each other to organise a present for him together. Sherlock got him a new laptop and a leather notebook for him to use to make notes on crime scenes. Cat gave him a shiny scale and a tooth which, while pretty, wasn't very useful but the thought was there.

And Mycroft brought him a broom.

Both John and Sherlock had stared at the present when John unwrapped it, though each for different reason. As soon as John had picked it up he had felt the magic in it and the amount had scared him slightly.

'John, is there a particular reason my brother gave you a broom? Or am I allowed to mock him because he gave you a 'gag gift'?'

'There's a reason, though I don't understand why…' John trailed off, trying to figure out Mycroft's reasoning.

'Don't try to think like my brother. You'll be there all day and not even get close.' Sherlock snapped, breaking into John's thoughts. There were times John would swear that Sherlock was the witch rather than himself.

'Sorry.'

'Now, explain the broom.'

'Broomstick.' John corrected out of habit.

Sherlock's eyes widened. 'Of course. The stereotype of witches on broomsticks must have had some basis in reality.'

John smiled ironically. 'Something like that.' He then grabbed the broomstick and headed up to his room. He was only there a minute before returning downstairs empty handed.

Sherlock examined him for a second, deduced that he had placed the broomstick away somewhere out of sight and huffed at the missed opportunity.

* * *

The broomstick remained hidden somewhere in John's room for a month while Sherlock tried to figure out why John had reacted so negatively to it.

Finally, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

John came home from work at the surgery one day to find Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table, broomstick before him, going over it with his magnifying glass. John froze in the doorway, and Sherlock spotted him when he turned his head to make another note in the little book he had beside him.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge him, however, and simply returned to his examination. This rejection was enough to break John of his freeze and he crossed the room to grab the broomstick. As soon as Sherlock saw him moving, he grabbed the broomstick and darted over to the other side of the room, ducking under the rising pillows as he moved.

'Sherlock.' John warned. Cat, who was watching TV from John's chair looked up, realised what was happening, and fled the room. He knew that fights between Sherlock and John had a tendency to be spectacular.

Sherlock simply raised an eyebrow, both at John's command and Cat's move.

'Give it back to me.'

'No.' Sherlock said childishly.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Why not?'

'Because you don't want it and I found it so now it's mine.' Sherlock smiled at his logic.

'You mean you ransacked my room until you found it.'

'Give me some credit, John. I deduced where you hid it and removed it without disturbing any of your other belongings. And I will return it… when you tell me why you dislike it so much.'

'Can't you just deduce why?' John snapped.

'I have tried. But you so often defy my expectations that I find my deductions…don't…'

'Work?' John provided with a smile.

Sherlock looked affronted which only made John's smile larger. Seeing his friend was getting slightly angry, John decided to answer Sherlock's question.

'I don't like the present because your brother presumed a lot with it.' At Sherlock's confused look John elaborated. 'The broomstick is about the only magical item that works even when the user doesn't have magic. Witches often give one to their mortal spouse.'

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow. 'That's all.'

'What do you mean that's all?' John was frowning now, as the tea cups on the bench began to levitate.

'People always make those sorts of assumptions about us John. And you know Mycroft is observant enough to know that there's no truth to the rumours.'

'Then why… of course.' John's frown turned into a smile and the cups floated back to their position on the table. He grabbed his coat and raced upstairs, returning with a wiggling Cat.

'Come on Sherlock!'

* * *

An hour later and they were at a deserted park on the outskirts of London. Cat had finally had the invisibility spell taken off and was running around in circles while John was trying to teach Sherlock the basics of broomstick riding.

'Come on Sherlock, it's not that difficult!' John had decided that Mycroft sent the broomstick so Sherlock could experience a small piece of magical life.

Sherlock didn't agree. 'This is a pointless activity.'

'If you really thought that you wouldn't be here.' John said with a smile.

'Untrue. You did not give me a chance to disagree to this outing.' Sherlock huffed.

This only made John's smile grow wider. 'Now you know what it feels like.' He looked at Sherlock for a long second, and then seemed to make his mind up about something. 'You know what? I think I may just let you deduce the rest of the techniques.'

Sherlock's head snapped around in confusion but he soon realised what John meant when he muttered something and the broom took off.

Sherlock held on for dear life for the first few minutes. He could hear John yelling instructions at him and Cat was making comments in the corner of his mind where Cat spoke but he ignored them both. He was trying to adjust to the feeling of being out of control which was a new to him. Sherlock was _always_ in control.

Slowly though, he began to remember the instructions he had ignored, and he began to gain control over the broom. It turned when he leaned one way, slowed down when he performed one movement, and sped up for another.

It was then he began to enjoy himself. The feeling of being so high up was addictive, the adrenaline rush similar to the one he got from his cases. By the time John used his magic to call the broom down, Sherlock was hooked.

'So, did you like it?' John asked anxiously.

'I'm not sure. I require further experimentation. Perhaps we could use it to return to the flat?'

John simply smirked.


	11. Blue Moon

****

**Disclaimer: I do not own**

**Author's Note: Written for a prompt of Werewolf from livejournal and zed's prompt. I would like to thank my anonymus reviewers for reviewing. You guys know who you are. =D**

* * *

Geoff Lestrade was used to Sherlock being mysterious. In fact, he expected it, mysterious having been Sherlock's default state when dealing with the Yard. He seemed to adore the big reveal, ignoring the fact that holding out while he left everyone else in the dark made him look very arrogant. And Geoff was even used to the frustration that came with the mystery.

Then John Watson came along and the mystery, instead of lessening as expected, grew even deeper.

Before, Geoff had only been involved in two cases Sherlock couldn't solve. One because everyone refused to tell the truth and Sherlock had refused to help after the fifth interview and the other because there was next to no evidence a crime had been committed other than a dead girl. And even Sherlock needed data in order to be able to solve a crime.

But now… well it seemed every other case had some form of conundrum Sherlock couldn't immediately solve. And the biggest mystery of all was the fact that Sherlock didn't seem to care. It was like…like he had information the police didn't and with that he solved the cases.

And he didn't bother to tell them how or why.

Geoff was desperate to find out Sherlock's secrets...he just wasn't quite ready for them when he did find them.

* * *

'And where are you going now?' Lestrade's girlfriend, Joyce, screamed.

'Out. I'll be back later.' Geoff said quietly, resigned to what was coming next. He pulled his coat back on, which he had as he had barely had time to take it off and grabbed his keys.

'Well, don't expect me to still be here when you get back!' With that, she slammed the door behind him. Geoff sighed. This whole dating thing had been so much easier with Debbie...but that had been years ago before Geoff was as involved in his job as he was now. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the wedding ring he always wore when Joyce wasn't around. She had hated any reminder of Geoff's dead wife, including his children who, luckily, were staying with their grandmother for the holidays.

A door slammed nearby, startling Geoff out of his thoughts. He looked around and realised he wasn't very familiar with this part of London. _I must have gone further than I thought and been out for a while. I had better head back._ Geoff turned around but as he did he swore he saw something move in the corner of his eye.

But when he turned to look, there was no one there.

Shaking his head, he started to make his way home. He had gone two blocks, when another door slammed startling him. Shaking it off as a coincidence he did speed up, ignoring the way the shadows seemed to get darker.

He glanced upwards and noticed that it was a cloudless night, and he could clearly see the full moon in the sky. Remembering the patterns of years of policing, he sped up even more. All the crazies came out on full moons… and he couldn't shake the feeling of being followed.

He decided to take action. He made a sudden, quick turn right down one street, then another quick turn left. As he did, he saw _something_ big behind him, increasing its pace with every turn.

Geoff began to run. So did it.

He broke into a full on sprint, dashing down alleyways and up deserted streets. He could hear heavy steps behind him, getting closer with every minute that passed. He was hopelessly lost now, taking turns with no care as to where he was going.

Then he made another turn and found himself at a park. Knowing his only advantage seemed to lay in quick turns, Geoff made to sprint across the park. He could hear the steps getting closer and he knew he was doomed…

Just then, something hit him from the side, forcing him to the ground. He hit hard but just in time as something huge and hairy flew over him and rolled with the momentum of its missed tackle. It stopped a few metres away and Geoff's eyes widened as he realised it was a wolf, but one far larger than he ever thought was possible. It got its feet under it, and Geoff realised it wasn't quite a wolf…most wolves don't have human legs. Or hand like paws, and glowing yellow eyes.

_Werewolf…but that's…that's…impossible._ He heard his rescuer swear softly beside him as the man got to his feet. The voice was familiar, though the words weren't.

Sherlock after all, never swore. It was far too common for him and would only lower him to the same level as all the idiots of the world.

The wolf growled and Sherlock repeated the word. Geoff's eyes were wide and he was sure his jaw was about to drop off. The wolf…_werewolf_ hadn't moved. Instead it was staring at Sherlock, who hadn't dropped his gaze and was staring right back.

'John anytime soon would be handy.' He said softly, causing Geoff to start to look around for the man.

'Don't move Inspector. Whatever happens, do not get up or move.' Sherlock said sharply but quietly. Geoff froze and Sherlock smiled grimly.

'What…what is it?' Geoff asked, still shocked.

'You already know, Inspector. John, anytime soon. The wolf is about to charge.'

'Count of three.' The disembodied voice of John Watson said. 'You know the plan?'

Sherlock just briefly glared at a place in the grass a few feet away before returning his gaze to the werewolf.

'Five…Forty Seven…Sixteen…Twenty Nine…Fifty…Three!' John clearly either needed counting lessons or he and Sherlock had invented their own form of counting between themselves. Judging by the amount of times they had been kidnapped and had rescued themselves, it was probably the latter.

Sherlock suddenly turned and began to sprint for the park exit. The werewolf gave chase, clearly glad to have a moving target. For two seconds, Geoff could not see the idea in the plan.

Then John appeared out of thin air beside him and threw a _fireball _at the werewolf. The flames hit right on the tail and John flinched at clearly having missed. But it did turn the werewolf around, so now Sherlock was safe and it was heading right for them.

John swore with the creativity of a soldier and began muttering rapidly under his breath. Something silver appeared in his hand but it was too late to fire or throw anything, the werewolf was too close.

Swearing again, he muttered something else and grabbed Geoff's coat. Then froze as the werewolf was right on them.

Suddenly it seemed a little lost. It was looking around like they had disappeared, before it was lifting its nose and taking great big sniffs. But after the third sniff, it still seemed confused.

_It's like it doesn't know where we are…like we just disappeared. But that's not possible as I'm still h…oh._ Geoff finally noticed that he couldn't see his hands, instead seeing the grass beneath them.

He felt John start to rise behind him, pulling at the back of his coat like he wanted him to move with him. Geoff slowly followed taking a few steps backwards when he regained his feet. From this new vantage point he could see behind the werewolf to where Sherlock was clearly trying to get closer with something that reflected the moonlight.

The item suddenly lifted out of Sherlock's hand, and floated towards them. Sherlock froze, then nodded and then John moved behind Geoff. He made some sort of throwing motion and Geoff found his eyes watching a newly appeared gun sail through the air towards Sherlock's waiting hands. It stopped just before them and Sherlock snatched the gun of the air. He fired six shots at the werewolf and it jerked, yelping as it collapsed. It lay there making sad, pitiful noises.

Geoff felt the hand holding him let go and John appeared in front of him, gesturing for the gun. Sherlock walked over and passed it over whereupon John shot the werewolf straight through the head, ignoring Geoff's gasp of shock.

'Well that went well, didn't it?' Sherlock said smiling. Geoff couldn't take anymore. He felt the blackness engulf him even as he saw John roll his eyes at Sherlock.

* * *

'Do you think we could pretend this didn't happen?' A voice spoke over Geoff's head.

'He may not be very intelligent John, but I do not believe him to be that stupid.' A second voice said, full of disdain. 'Besides he is coming around now, and no doubt has heard the end of our conversation and is very confused.'

Geoff groaned as he recognised both the voice and the tone being used. He opened his eyes to see John leaning over him looking concerned while Sherlock was leaning over _him __[him who? John, Geoff, the werewolf?]_, looking bored.

'Alright there Inspector?' [Isn't that Detective Inspector?]

Geoff sat up. 'I'm fine…what hap…oh.' He went silent, having spotted the corpse of the werewolf still laying where it had fallen. 'Won't someone notice that?'

'Don't worry, someone will clear it up.' John said unconcerned.

Sherlock frowned. 'Someone will? I don't recall you mentioning that when we began our hunt.'

'I meant your brother. He said he often cleans up magical messes, I'm sure this counts.' Sherlock looked with a disgusted look which slowly turned into a smile as an idea occurred to him.

'No. Whatever you are smiling about you are not doing.' John suddenly snapped.

'But John, you don't know what I want to do.'

'And I don't want to. I know you, whenever you smile that like I either end up with body parts in my kitchen, poisons in the living room or a very pissed off Cat. You are not doing whatever it is you are thinking of.'

Sherlock was about to argue, when a howl broke though the quiet of the night. Geoff jumped. 'What's that?'

'Probably one of this wolf's pack…come on, we had better go.' John said, offering Geoff his hand.

'Why? We got this one, we can handle another one. The Game is on, John! You don't go back to the flat during a Game.' Sherlock sounded like a child who was having its favourite toy taken away.

'Trust me Sherlock, one werewolf is nothing compared to the angry pack on the way. I promise we'll pick the Game up next month, right now we need to move!' John grabbed Sherlock's arm and began to drag him.

As the next howl came from a location very close the trio began to run.

* * *

By unspoken agreement they ended up at 221B Baker Street. Well, Sherlock had started to head towards Geoff's home, but then he turned and hailed a taxi giving it their address. Sherlock had looked him over, realised he wanted answers and motioned at John to get in. John hadn't stopped looking nervous since.

When they had reached their home, John had gone to see Mrs Hudson while Sherlock led Geoff up to the flat. Once there he had flopped down on the sofa and begun to stare Lestrade down.

Then John had walked into the flat, a real life _dragon_ in his arms. Geoff's jaw dropped and the little creature jumped out of John's arm and flapped up out of sight.

'Don't worry. He knows so you don't have to hide… Cat.' John smiled humourlessly at Geoff. 'Sorry, he's not normally shy.' John shrugged and sat down in his chair.

'So…werewolves? Are they like…' Geoff began to ask.

'The ones in the movies?' John cut in. 'Sort of.' Sherlock huffed, clearly having heard this before.

'What do you mean by sort of?'

'Well most movies show werewolves as being people who turn into wolves once a month but are normal the rest of the time.'

'And that's not true?'

'Not really. Being a werewolf is a death sentence.'

Geoff was shocked. 'How?'

'It drives you insane. The wolf mind and soul starts to fight with yours and within four moons you are clinically insane. By the sixth moon you're a monster, with nothing remaining of your personality. It's a true curse.'

Geoff was silent for a moment, thinking over what had been said. 'So that thing tonight…'

'Was a monster in every sense. Really, it was a mercy to kill a werewolf knowing the kind of existence they lead.'

'And how did you kill it? Where did that gun come from?' Geoff finally asked the question that had been nagging him since the attack. 'And…why were you two even there?'

Sherlock finally sat up and re-entered the conversation. 'Come on Lestrade, surely you know the answer to your last question.' He sneered.

Geoff thought for a moment, and then remembered Sherlock and John's fight as they left the park. '…for fun? You guys were hunting that werewolf for fun?'

'Of course. It's as good as hunting a criminal, except much less predictable. Werewolves have no motive, no pattern after all.' Sherlock grinned.

John rolled his eyes. 'Yes they are so much fun. Until they try to rip your throat out.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but Geoff cut him off. 'You still didn't answer my question. Where did the gun come from?'

John sighs. 'I conjured it. Silver bullets are the only way to kill a werewolf.'

Geoff blinks again. He has the feeling he's missed something in that statement. 'You…what?'

Sherlock answered this time, in his usual mocking tone. 'Conjured. Created out of thin air. Made appear. Come on Inspector, I know even you aren't that much of an idiot.'

Geoff thought Sherlock might have just complimented him in his usual Sherlock manner but he was still trying to grasp what they meant by conjured. 'You mean, you used something to make a gun appear out of nowhere.'

'Magic, Inspector. I'm…I'm a witch.' John said seriously.

There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Geoff burst into laughter.

John looked slightly hurt. 'Why are you laughing?'

'Isn't it obvious?' Sherlock snapped. 'He believes the stereotype shown in today's pop culture that witches are young, attractive females. As you are none of those things, you can't possibly be a witch.'

'Thanks.' John deadpanned. Sherlock looked confused at the tone. He was clearly unaware he had just insulted John indirectly.

'Wait, you're serious?' Geoff asked.

'No Inspector. I just go around telling people I'm a witch for kicks.' _Ouch_, thought Geoff. _Clearly John has picked up some of Sherlock's sarcasm. Not exactly the best habit to pick up._

'You really think you are a witch?' Geoff double checked.

John didn't answer, rolling his eyes. Then his gaze zoomed in on the minor cut on Geoff's hand that he had gotten some time during that nightmarish fight.

'When did you get that?' he asked.

'Not sure…probably when Sherlock tackled me…why did you tackle me?' Geoff turned to look at Sherlock.

'Simple. You were about to become a werewolf. I merely acted to prevent another creature existing.' Sherlock was glaring at John, daring him to contradict his statement.

But John only had eyes for the injury. 'Give it here.' He held out his hand for Geoff's. Confused Geoff gave it to him.

'It's not that bad John.'

John smiled. 'I know, but it will help prove my point.' With that, he focused his attention on the policeman's hand. He placed his left hand over the wound and to Geoff's shock, his hand began to glow with a golden colour.

When he removed the hand, the wound was gone, as was any sign it had ever been there. Geoff turned his hand over and over in shock. When he raised his eyes to look at John, they were wide once again.

'You…you're…'

'A witch.' Sherlock supplied. Geoff sat still trying to process this.

'So all the odd crime scenes and incidents recently…they have involved…what witches?'

'Or magic. There is a difference.' John explained.

Geoff gave John a searching look, and then quickly glanced at Sherlock and back again. 'I know.' Said John. 'Sherlock acts much more like a witch then I do. If I didn't know better, I would think he was a witch, what with knowing everything by looking at nothing.'

Sherlock smirked. Cat chose that moment to reappear, throwing himself across the room at Sherlock, who deflected him with a pillow. The little dragon ended up in a heap on the ground, eyes wide and looking up, pouting with a slight whimper.

John tried to hide his amusement but failed. Cat saw it, and with a huff turned to leave the room. He had his head held high, trying to act dignified. This was ruined when he tripped over his own feet and ended up in another heap on the floor.

John burst out laughing and Sherlock joined in after a moment. It was brief, but the fact it had happened shocked Geoff to the core.

He chose that moment to leave quietly.

* * *

Geoff made up his mind that while he didn't want to get involved in any way in John's magical world like Sherlock had, he was willing to help. So he began to run interference for them, giving the pair free run of odd crime scenes, passing on weird cases and bailing them out whenever they got caught for trespassing or some other minor offences which never seemed to go to fair, he had done this before so it really wasn't all that different.

And if that one time when he had had the kids with him at the station while he called in for a moment to talk to Sherlock about limits he had seen John entertain his kids with a few magic tricks that were impossible to do…well, he just made a note that John was an awesome babysitter.


	12. Five times John used magic selflessly

**Disclaimer: Do not own**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, but I lost the file with these in it during the move from one laptop to another. This is inspired by a whole bunch of prompts. =D**

_

* * *

_

1. To fix his mother

John was seven years old when he first figured out _his_ gift. It was a bit late for a young witch to find their particular type of magic but not unheard of. They had known Harry's strength from the moment they brought a baby John home and in a fit of jealously she had turned him into a toad. At first they had punished her for touching the spell book without permission until she had started screaming that she hadn't touched it, that she had just wanted the baby to be so small that no one would care about it and would care about her again.

But John hadn't done anything like that. In fact, he struggled with most transfiguration spells rarely getting the creature he wanted. He wasn't any good at battle magic, to his parents' relief and had no memory for herbs or potions. Teleporting made him faint and he had never showed any sign of the more 'psychic' powers like telepathy. The only lead his parents had to his special ability was his telekinesis, but that only showed up when he was angry.

If not for his mother's accident just after his seventh birthday, there is no knowing when he would have discovered his healing ability.

It had been six months since John had been kidnapped and nearly become the next victim of a demon and while his Mum was getting less vigilant at watching him, his Dad rarely let him go anywhere alone. It was to be expected, he had been the one to find John but it very annoying to a seven year old when he wasn't allowed to go to any of his friend's places because they couldn't protect him. Or he couldn't even go outside into the yard alone because he had only been in the front yard when the demon got him.

One day, he had sneaked out of the house to go look for worms in the garden. The T.V program had said they liked to hide in the dirt and there was a nice dirt patch at the end of the garden. John had borrowed one of the spoons from the kitchen and was happily digging away, when his Mum started to yell for him.

He was having so much fun that John decided to pretend he couldn't hear her. He managed it too…until she came out into the garden and stood right behind him.

'John, I've been calling you. Why didn't you come? I thought something had happened to you!' she said angrily.

'But I'm fine Mummy. Look! I found worms.' John pointed out his small pile of worms with the spoon.

His mother quickly focused on the spoon. 'Is that my spoon?' she asked quietly, but in the voice John knew proceeded her yelling at him.

John knew better than to lie. 'Yes, Mum. I borrowed it. I was going to put it back.' He looked up at her with wide eyes.

Sighing, she grabbed his arm. 'Next time ask me, and I'll give you an old spoon.' She pulled him up and began to pull him along towards the house.

Suddenly, a man appeared in the middle of the yard. Without thinking, Sally Watson pushed her child behind her and faced the man.

John wasn't sure what was happening, but his Mum had just pushed him to the ground like Harry always did, and it had hurt. He looked up to his mother but she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at the man standing in front of her. He said something John didn't understand and then his Mum just collapsed. John froze as the man disappeared with a smile.

Slowly John crept forward to his Mum's side. She was covered in red paint and there was a sore like when he hurt his knees on her chest. She was crying and John remembered how much his knees had hurt and he knew why.

'Mummy? What's wrong?' she didn't answer, but just kept breathing heavily. John heard his Dad calling from the house but he ignored him. _Mummy's hurt… I have to help her._

He remembered how his Mum had made his knees all better and he decided to do the same for her. She had said some funny words when she did it, but John couldn't remember them so he would have to do it without them

He held his hands out over his Mum's sore and screwed up his face thinking about it being all better. At first nothing happened, but then John felt the tug that he always felt when he threw something at Harry or used a spell. He opened his eyes to see his Mum looking up at him in wonder.

'I fixed you, Mummy!' he cried with a huge smile. 'I fixed you like you fix me.'

His mother sat up, as her husband finally raced out into the yard. 'Yes you did. You did fix me.' She pulled him into a hug.

_

* * *

_

2. To save a pet

There was a black dog that lived next door that John hated. It was small, and looked far too much like a cat. It had scared John heaps when he had first seen it. Even now, when it didn't scare him he still hated it. The dog would bark at all hours of the night and as John's room was closest to the neighbour's backyard he was always the person awoken by it.

But the kids next door loved the dog and would show it off to anyone they met when walking it. The oldest, Ronald was two years younger than John so they had little to do with another.

It was the week before John's fourteenth birthday when the dog managed to slip out past the father and escape. John listened to them call for the dog long after it had disappeared from sight and for two weeks after he found a large amount of posters appearing on his route to school. Other than being thankful for a full night's sleep John didn't care about the event, he didn't even bother to learn the dog's name.

Now there was a small forest a short walk away from John's house. John spent a lot of his free time in there, playing ridiculous games and searching for magical creatures and herbs. He did invite some of his friends there but they all believed the stories about it being haunted and refused to go in. John couldn't understand their reasoning; he knew the forest was haunted. He was actually quite good friends with a few of the younger ghosts. One day, about two and a half weeks after the dog next door had run away John found himself spending his Saturday in the forest. This time it was for homework, as his mother was teaching him about herbs and he had to identify a dozen different ones and bring them home. He was picking one of the last plants on his list when he heard a quiet whine.

Curious, he followed the noise until he came to a small hole. Looking down into it he spotted a small black dog, with a clearly broken leg. Startled, he recognised the dog as the missing one. It was very thin and John guessed it had been in the hole for a while. He wasn't quite sure how it had gotten there but it clearly wasn't getting out.

Sighing, he placed his bag on a nearby tree branch then reached into the hole. He quickly removed his hand as a sharp pain went through it. The dog jerked it's head out of sight.

'It bit me!' he cried, shocked. He held his hand up to the light and saw that the dog hadn't broken the skin but it still hurt. Angry, he grabbed his stuff and stormed off.

He hadn't taken more than ten steps when the dog whined again. Guilt flooded though him. The dog _was_ hurt, and to walk away would be heartless. Sighing he dropped his bag and headed back to the hole. This time he didn't just poke his hand in, he tried to see if he could position himself so he could see the dog. After a moment his eyes adjusted to the light and he spotted the little dog right at the very back of the hole.

_Now how do I get you out of there?_ He wondered. John knew he could go home and get someone to help, even possibly the neighbours but he didn't want to have to walk twice. Besides, the dog was hurt and if he could save it pain…

An idea occurred to him and he quickly grabbed his bag and searched through it. Finally he found the plant he was searching for, the one he was sure caused sleep. With a hurried glance around him he tried to conjure some form of dog food. He was aiming for a bone, or a piece of meat.

He got something resembling slop on a plate which was slightly odd because he hadn't been aiming for a plate but it would do. Slowly he broke up the plant and spread it over the slop. Then John carefully pushed the plate into the hole and watched as the dog greedily gobbed it up.

John then counted off the five minutes it took for the plant's spell to take effect. He waited another minute after it should have worked then reached in and pulled the heavy dog out. As soon as it was clear, John began to check it…_him_ for injuries.

He only found the broken leg and some minor cuts. John wasn't sure if his magic worked on animals but now seemed like the perfect moment to find out.

Concentrating hard John pulled his healing magic to his hands and felt it working on the dog. He smiled.

Half an hour later, John led a groggy dog out of the forest. He walked it to the main road, placing it just under one of the flyers. John knew the family would be by in a few minutes double checking all the flyers were still up. He would leave the dog here… he didn't want the recognition.

For the next month the kids next door were celebrating the return of their dog. They called it a miracle as the dog wasn't hurt, was barely hungry and had just appeared under one of their flyers.

John just asked them to shut the dog up.

_

* * *

_

3. To ease someone's passing

John loved his job. He was only an intern but he loved the feeling he got from being able to help others, to know he was making a difference. And, if he was able to hide use of his ability occasionally… well it was going to be an added bonus.

It was about time for him to knock off so he dropped in on his favourite patient. She was an elderly lady, Theresa Johnson, who was suffering from cancer and to whom he had taken a liking. She wasn't exactly his patient but she never had any of her family visit and the chances of her leaving the hospital were so low she had all but given up hope. John had gotten into the habit of visiting her for as long as he could each shift, just so she had some company.

Normally they just talked about the small things, much like John did to his own grandma. But she was the first person he had talked to about his desire to join the army and she had encouraged him to follow his dream in between telling him tales about her husband and children. John had brought her a favourite magazine of hers she had mentioned in an attempt to cheer her up.

It is painfully clear as he enters the room that she has taken a turn for the worse and the magazine is not going to help anything.

'Theresa.' He said softly as he nears her bed. He places the magazine on the bedside table and takes a seat in the chair beside her bed. She opens her eyes slowly and turns to look at him with a smile.

'John, dear. How are you?' she wheezes out. Every action of hers is making it clear that the treatment she is on is not working. John feels his heart sinking.

'I fine. But I'm supposed to be the one asking you that.'

Her smile grows slightly wider. 'You are a great doctor, John. I'm sure you know exactly how I feel.'

'I'm only an intern.' He protests. Theresa just smiles wider. 'So, are they trying another treatment?'

He asks.

'No. I've told them not to. I'm sick of all the treatments failing; I just want to die with dignity.'

John blinked away a stray tear. 'What about your family? What do they think of this decision?'

Theresa's smile becomes grim. 'John, do you think my family care? I've been here six months and they've never visited. I can face the facts; the only two people who care about me are my dead husband…and you.'

John lets this tear drop down his face. Theresa places her hand on John's, which is resting on the bed. 'Don't cry. I'm off to a better place.'

'How long?' John asks quietly.

'A few days, maybe a week if I'm _lucky_.' She said the last part with a slight edge to her voice.

John picked up on it. 'Theresa…'

'I know. Treasure very moment and live life to the fullest…but John, sometimes I just can't wait for it to end.'

John looked down and removed his hand from Theresa's. 'I'm sorry John.' Theresa said. 'I didn't mean to upset you…'

'There's nothing I can do?' John asked softly.

Theresa's smile returned. 'You've done so much already John. I'm so very grateful for you. I couldn't possible ask you to do any more…' she trailed off.

John closed his eyes and suddenly an idea came to him. He debated with himself for a minute then made up his mind. 'I can give you a gift.' He said softly.

Theresa looked confused. 'John I just said…'

'I know. I can make the end easier.'

She misunderstood him. 'John, I'm already dying. I'll not risk your career, your _future_ for a few less days of pain.'

John shakes his head. 'I won't take your life. I refuse to do that. But I can…I can put you into a deep sleep so you don't feel anything.'

Theresa is still confused. 'But John… isn't that what the pain medications are for?'

'Not like this. This would be… well, like this.' He puts his hand over her head and mutters the spell he plans to use, with one modification. She gasps as the images fill her head. John isn't sure exactly what; he just knows the spell allows a person to relive the best moments of their life for however long he wants them too. He can make it last for her last days, if she wants.

He removes his hand, and the current spell ends. As her eyes clear Theresa is looking up at him in shock. 'What was that?' she said in awe.

'My gift. You can relive every good moment of your life as if you were still there, for the rest of your life, if you would like.'

The delighted look on her face is answer enough for John. He goes to out his hand over her head again, but her weak hand grabs his before it reaches her. 'You are an angel, aren't you?' she asks quietly.

John smiles grimly. 'No, but I could probably introduce you to one. I'm just a man with a…a gift.'

She smiles. 'Well then, I hope you get what you want in life…and I hope one day you know exactly how much this…'

John cuts her off. 'I know.' He places his hand on her forehead, mutters the spell and Theresa is gone, spending her last days in pleasure, not pain.

John signed up for the army that afternoon

_

* * *

_

4. To give someone hope

'I'm not going to make it home.'

John looked up at the statement. He was in his bunk, trying to grab some sleep for a few hours. He had only been in Afghanistan for a few days and was already exhausted, having been taking watches for other men, far more tired than he was. It was the man in the bunk above him who had made that statement, a fellow by the name of Henry Barker.

'Don't think like that Barker.' John said, putting a bit of an order into his voice.

'I'm sorry John, but it's just… I can't see how…'

'You will make it out of here just fine. Now go to sleep.' Above him Henry sighed, but rolled over. John closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Henry wasn't the only man who thought like that. There had to be a way…Oh.

An idea came to him and John spent the rest of the night debating over it and then, planning it out.

The next morning, the men weren't too surprised to see their new medic/doctor was the first one up. What did shock a few of them was him volunteering to help cook. He had often stated his cooking ability was pretty limited, but the regular cooks were quite happy to have an extra set of hands, no one really thought about his motives.

And if that meant no one watched him closely enough to spot the hand full of herbs he added to the porridge, well that was an added bonus for John. He had had to raid the small supply of herbs Harry had slipped into his bag as she said goodbye but it was worth it. He had sworn not to use magic again but this wasn't really very magical… at least that was what he was going to tell himself.

_Dill for good cheer and survival, Marjoram for joy and mint for refreshment and to disguise the taste. Or to help pass it off as an experiment. John thought over the herbs he had used._

It was no shock to him that the men of his unit were slightly more hopeful than before.

_

* * *

_

5. To save a stranger

He was on patrol when he found the man. Lying in the dust by the side of the road, most men would have passed the man off as dead and kept walking. Not John. He would have stopped to check, even if his magic hadn't been screaming at him that there was someone injured near him.

In fact, this was what made him such a good doctor.

He made his way to the man and rolled him over. As soon as he saw the face and the clothes of the man properly he realised this man was an Afghani, most likely a member of the Taliban. But John didn't care. As far as he was concerned this man was one of his patients now and that was it.

The member of his squad behind him did not agree with John's ideas.

'What on Earth are you doing? That's a…'

'This is my patient. I don't give a damn who he is or what nation he fights for. I will help him.' John growled out, cutting the new guy off.

He huffed and continued on his way.

It was then the bullet ripped through John's shoulder.

It hurt beyond anything he had ever felt and John didn't want to do anything other than scream. But he could hear more bullet shots around him and he knew that people were relying on him. He looked down at the man bleeding out under him and made a decision. He quickly called up a small amount of his magic, enough to stop him dying in the next hour or so.

Then, gritting his teeth against the pain, John crawled towards the nearest body. He ran a hand over him, grabbed a bandage because he wasn't wasting his magic if he could bandage the wound. He called over another squad member, thrust the bandage into his hands and moved onto the next victim.

He managed to get halfway to another man before the darkness became too strong to hold back and he passed out to the cries of men around him.

_

* * *

_

And the one time he really wasn't...

+1. For Revenge

Donovan and Anderson were the only parts of John's new life that he didn't like. They never let up on Sherlock, always tormenting him and criticising him. It never seemed to bother Sherlock, but John always finds himself getting mad on his flatmate's behalf. He looks forward to the times they take a pot-shot at him if only because he is able to retaliate.

He also always finds himself cleaning up broken mugs and glasses whenever they are particularly mean. Sherlock even offers to help, but John normally waves it off as it's his mess and there have been occasions when Sherlock hasn't quite managed to duck, which makes John feel guilty.

So when he has a chance to get back at even one of them, he takes it without a second thought. Despite the fact it's not exactly the best use for his magic, he has no qualms about using it in his plans.

Donovan is the one he gets revenge on, and it's a spur of the moment thing. Sherlock and he are in Lestrade's office and John is looking out Lestrade's window at the squad room while the pair argues over some crime scene. He can see Donovan at her desk in front of him, writing out something and when she goes to answer the phone she puts her pen down. It lays there, perfectly innocent, and in a flash an idea comes to him and he's acting on it before he even thinks about it.

He uses his telekinesis to push the pen over so it's just out of her reach. It should be harder than it is, but apparently John has a lot of repressed anger to call on to power his ability. Donovan puts the phone down and reaches for the pen without looking. John gets a small giggle from the look on her face when she finds it isn't there.

Looking around slightly confused, she moves over and grabs the pen. She turns back to where she was writing to find the piece of paper she was working on has moved. It's not there, and she spots it sitting beneath the desk. Even more confused, Donovan picked up the piece of paper only to find her items on her desk have changed position. Her phone is now in the middle of the desk, her computer screen is tillered down and her mouse is atop the pile of files on the other side of the desk.

She reaches out to grab it, only to have it move slightly away from her hand. Donovan pauses, looks around to find no one watching her, then tries again.

The mouse moves away again.

Frustrated, and not quite willing to believe what was happening, she lunges for the mouse only to have it jump off the desk and fall to the ground. She shrieks and jumps away from the desk. Taking a deep breath, and ignoring everyone eyes which are now on her, Donovan turns her back and heads for the toilets.

She does stay well clear of all the desks though.

John is having trouble hiding his laughter and glee. He looks back at Sherlock and Lestrade who have stopped fighting. Sherlock looks like he knows exactly what is going on and he too is hiding a smile. Lestrade on the other hand, looks as confused as everyone but there's a slight look of suspicion in his eyes. While he knows about John and his abilities but he's not quite sure exactly what the man can do, other than turn disappear and fight werewolves.

'John…?'

John smiles innocently. 'Yes inspector?'

'Why do I have the feeling you have something to do with Donovan's office supplies hating her?'

'Because John did have something to do with it. Why did you do that John?'

John smiles fully. 'Because I could.'


	13. Stereotypical Witch

**Disclaimer: Do not own**

**Author's Note: This was written ages ago and lost somewhere in my hard drive. I found it and decided to post it. It's for all you who requested an evil witch. **

**NOTE: This was written _before _Blue Moon and so Lestrade is not aware of John's.. differences. =)**

* * *

Another day, another crime scene. John had been dragged along, turned around on his way in the door from work and was now tired, hungry and cold in the winter air. Sherlock was dancing around the scene as normal while Anderson and Lestrade looked on.

The woman here had been found in a locked room, with the outside wall blown out. The odd thing about it was that nothing, except the body and the wall showed any signs of being in an explosion. And the body hadn't been moved and it was halfway across the room, nowhere near the wall.

John shifted a bit, trying to warm up when a little sack in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Discretely, he walked over to it thanking Sherlock for getting into another fight with Anderson over his horrible crime scene management skills. Quietly he picked it up and immediately felt the cold around him increase as if he had stuck his hand in ice water. He dropped the little bag and the feeling disappeared.

He quickly turned and ran a new eye over the crime scene. Now he knew what he was looking for he could see signs of the woman's second, hidden life. There were charms for protection hidden in the paintings and over the doors. A charm for prosperity hidden under the sofa and bags of herbs stashed in and under items all over the room.

And the bag that John had dropped, containing some form of anti-magic charm. It had clearly been left by the killer.

'What is it?' Sherlock asked quietly from behind John. John jumped slightly and turned to face Sherlock. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Anderson sulking, having clearly been put in his place by Sherlock.

'Pick that up.' John quietly ordered. 'It's an anti-magic charm.'

Sherlock bent down and picked the little bag while eying the room again. He quickly spotted the signs that John had picked up on and came to the same conclusion.

'She's a witch.'

'Yes.' John said. 'And so was her killer.'

* * *

Sherlock hadn't taken anytime in dissembling the little bag when they returned to their flat. It simply contained a small metal charm which looked to be a series of squiggles and a small bunch of herbs. Confused and knowing he was a little out of his depth he marched over to John who was sitting in his chair watching telly.

'What's this?' Sherlock dropped the charm onto John's lap. The reaction was immediate and unexpected. John leapt out of his chair like he had been burnt and threw the charm across the room. He was breathing heavily and Sherlock quickly observed a slight redness on his hand.

'John?'

John heard the hidden concern in Sherlock's voice. 'It's an anti-magic charm. Like the one Moriarty had except…' he trailed off.

'Yes?'

'This one was made by an expert. It doesn't have the curses Moriarty's had because it doesn't need them. It works fine without them.'

Sherlock quickly processed this. 'And the herbs?'

'Stop it working.'

Sherlock blinked in confusion. 'That is illogical.'

'Not really. That charm burns as soon as a witch touches it, meaning they know it's there. If their hands aren't restrained…'

Sherlock continued the explanation. 'They'll be able to get it off them and stop the anti-magic part of the charm working. So the herbs nullify the charm enough so the witch can be over powered.'

John nodded. 'And hide the charm. You would have to be a very good witch to spot it… or sense it.' He then frowned and grabbed the case file off Sherlock. John pulled out the crime scene photos and began to place them all over the coffee table. In a few seconds Sherlock was by his side helping, noticing he was concentrating mainly on those of the burned wall and moving those ones to the centre of the table. Once they were out John just stared at them, before his eyes widened and he grabbed a photo from the very centre of the table.

'She's a battle witch.' John breathed in awe.

'Battle witch?' Sherlock asked, confused.

'Remember what I told you about witches when you first found out about me? That we are 'classified' by the magic we're best at. Like, I'm a healing witch because healing comes easily to me and Harry's a transfiguration witch because she's good at that.'

'Yes.'

'Well a battle witch is someone to whom magic specifically used to attack others comes naturally. They're really rare and nearly always evil.'

'Nearly always evil?'

'You try doing magic to help others when your magic seems to only want to hurt them. It takes a lot of work to work against your nature.'

'So you would find attacking another with magic hard.' Sherlock stated.

John raised an eyebrow, but other than a nod, drew no attention to how quickly his friend had picked up on the nature of his magic.

'So our killer is one of theses. How can you tell?' Sherlock asked stealing the photo from John.

'Look at the side of the wall blown out. It would take a lot of magic to do that, magic which would knock most witches out for at least an hour.'

'And the victim had only been dead half an hour at the most when she was found.' Sherlock picked up on what John was saying.

'Exactly.' John said with a smile. 'The only way she would been able to do that is if it came easy to her and didn't require as much magic.'

'Does this help find her?'

John opened his mouth, thought for a second then closed it. 'No.' he admitted after a moment. 'But it does mean we'll have to be so much more careful.'

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow at John, questioning the sensibility of what he had just said.

'I mean it!'

* * *

It was two hours later that Sherlock got a text from Lestrade, summoning him to another crime scene. Another woman had been found dead, this time frozen completely in ice. In her bath. In her indoor sauna.

It was baffling the police and even Sherlock found himself stripped for answers. Well at least answers he could give the police. He knew perfectly well what had happened here and John's nervous glances around the room were only confirming his suspicions. Spotting one of the little bags from the earlier crime scene he caught John's eye and then flicked his towards it. John shook his head slightly until Sherlock gave the box of gloves by Anderson a meaningful glance.

Having communicated an entire plan without words, Sherlock began an intricate performance detailing everything about the woman and her life he could. While he distracted the police John slipped around the room carefully grabbing every cursed bag he could see. As soon as he had them all, he used the pickpocketing skills Sherlock had taught him to slip them into the pocket of Sherlock's big coat and therefore got them far away from him.

Sherlock smirked as he left the scene. People were so blind! He hadn't told the police anything they didn't (or shouldn't) know, but the way he had presented it had made it seem new. And all the while they had forgotten his companion, allowing him to steal right under their noses.

And all without magic.

As the pair walked away, neither of them noticed the eyes in the shadows that watched them go.

* * *

A careful examination of the charms from the second scene had shown them to more powerful than the ones from the first scene. Sherlock was delighted, he did love a challenge. John wasn't so happy, he had a very bad feeling about this whole affair.

'There must be some way you can trace her using magic.' Sherlock demanded of John suddenly.

John was taken aback and answered without thinking. 'Yes, but it's not very accurate.'

'How accurate is it?'

'I can get you a general area, within a hundred feet of the witch.' John shrugged. 'If I have something of hers it would be far better.'

'Don't the spell bags count?' Sherlock held up one of the little bags from the latest crime scene as an example.

'No, that's what is giving you a hundred foot radius. They're just not important enough to her to do any better.'

Sherlock huffed in disgust. 'Emotion.' He muttered under his breath.

John gave him a slightly dirty look but stood up and went working for the items he needed for the spell.

* * *

'This would have worked far better if I had come alone.'

John gave Sherlock a dirty look. 'And have me leave you alone while searching for a murderous witch?' he shook his head in disbelief. 'Not on your life.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but a slight movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he forgot what he was going to say. Or deleted it as it wasn't relevant.

Turning slightly, he made it look as he was watching everyone on the other side of the street while really watching the woman a few steps behind him. Sherlock made sure she couldn't see his lips and spoke softly to John.

'Any witches around?'

John was thrown for a second before he replied. 'Umm…hang on.' He closed his eyes and focused for a millisecond. Then his eyes widened and he looked Sherlock in the eyes. 'Yes. A very powerful one and they're very close.'

'Excellent.' Without another word, Sherlock turned and headed straight for the woman watching them. She spotted him heading for her however, and with a smile turned herself and headed down a nearby alleyway. Sherlock didn't even stop to think about consequences of following her, he just did, ignoring John swearing under his breath and trying to stop him.

'Sherlock!'

Two minutes later the woman stopped, having come to a dead end. She turned to face Sherlock, who was right behind her. John paused at the alleyway entry for a moment, and then moved to stand beside Sherlock.

'So you two are the ones the police think can catch me?' the woman said in a soft, sing song voice.

'No, we're the two people who the police know can catch you.' Sherlock retorted. The witch's eyes flashed and a small ball of fire appeared in her hand. John immediately began to think of ways to get Sherlock out of the line of fire.

'Sherlock when I say so, I want you to run.' John kept his eyes on the woman as he spoke, softly enough that Sherlock barely heard him.

'I won't'

'You will go. Sherlock, I'm not going to be able to hold her off for long. You need to get…someone. Witnesses, help whatever you can find. I'll buy you a few minutes but you have to go when I say so.'

Sherlock nodded, but then realising his friend was in front of him and couldn't see him, he said 'Yes.'

John tensed for a second then yelled, 'Now!' and Sherlock was off.

He turned his back and sprinted down the alley, ignoring the cry of the woman behind him. He ducked when John yelled 'DUCK!' and thus avoided the fireball throw at him. Then he turned a corner and was safely out of the line of fire.

Now he needed to think of something. Some way to save John…

* * *

John had never really been in a magical duel. Sure Harry and he had had fights as children and had often involved magic. But those had rarely been serious…well except for the time John had thrown the refrigerator at Harry. Or the time she had turned him into a snail and not told anyone where he was for a whole hour.

But they weren't life-threatening fights like this one. John knew that there were places he could have gone to learn how to fight with his magic but like he told Sherlock, he found it hard and had decided not to do it. Then his University roommate had died because of magic and he had sworn never to actively practice it again. He was never going to let another person be hurt because of his powers.

_I wished I had known then what my life was going to be like now_, John thought as he ducked the first fireball. _I might have done things differently. _

John knew his only advantage laid in the fact the woman didn't know he was a witch. He was quite sure it would never have crossed her mind to use her magic to check. The stereotype of a female witch was so strong, even witches believed it. But once he used his first spell she would know and he would lose his only advantage… it was a dilemma.

'You are nothing. I'm going to crush you mortal!' she suddenly cried and raised both her arms. Fire reappeared all around her, headed straight for John. There was no time for him to duck.

He did the only thing he could. Pulling together his magic, he created a shield in front of his arm, which he held before his face. The fire couldn't get though the shield and went harmlessly around him. However, he lowered the shield a little early and so got a little singed from the tail end of the attack.

But he could see the look of shock on the woman's face. John quickly ran the events of the last few seconds though his mind and realised that the fire had hid his shield and it looked like he had survived the attack with nothing to assist him.

A little more cautiously, the other witch threw another thing at him, this time the garbage bin beside her.

John smiled grimly he threw himself at the ground, discreetly using his telekinesis to change the trajectory of the garbage bin so it only just passed above him. To the woman, it simply looked like he had ducked again and she had missed. She had obviously decided his survival before was a fluke, a protection spell from another witch that was wearing off.

_Enough is enough, _John thought as he stood up. _I'm ending this._

He raised his hand exactly as she had been doing, causing her to smile. 'What, you think you can do what I am doing?' she laughed. 'It's magic, you stupid mortal. You can't copy it. And your little protection spell couldn't have survived that last attack intact.'

John started to mutter under his breath, causing her smile to grow larger. 'You still think you can do what I'm doing?' she said in disbelief.

John smiled. 'No, I know I can.' And with a shout, the bubble of water that had appeared behind John flew at the other witch.

She ducked, but she didn't have John's reflexes. The force of the water hit her in the chest, throwing her against the wall. She slid down it and sat on the ground, eyes wide with disbelief and focused on John.

John closed his eyes for a second against the weariness that came from casting the spell. The other witch spotted this and her eyes narrowed. She went to stand, but the pain in her chest stopped her. Clearly the fall had broken a few of her ribs. Suddenly an idea came to her.

With the last of her magic, she conjured a gun.

* * *

Lestrade wasn't sure exactly where Sherlock and John were. All he knew was that they had gone after their serial killer about an hour ago and hadn't been seen since.

When he found them he was going to make sure they were okay. Then he was going to kill them for running off on their own again. He was also going to continue to ignore the feeling that he sounded like he was thinking about a child _and when on Earth did he become a Dad to a sociopath and ex-army doctor? Why was he always doomed to be the voice of reason?_

He was racing around the streets of London, following rumours and chasing ghosts; with a complaining Donovan at his when he happened to spot a swirling black coat in the corner of his eye. He turned rapidly and there was Sherlock, wild-eyed…well as much as Sherlock got wild-eyed. He was scanning the street, clearly looking for something. He looked up and his eyes met Lestrade's. He smirked, then turned on his heels and sprinted down the street. With a cry to Donovan, Lestrade was following him only just keeping him in sight.

But he was keeping him in sight. Which was new. Sherlock knew London so well, he could all but disappear. You could only chase him like this, if he wanted you to chase him like this. _So why does he want us to follow him? And couldn't he take two seconds to stop and explain what he wants and have us follow him of our own free will?_

Sherlock turned another corner into an alleyway, Lestrade seconds behind him. When he reached the beginning of the alley Lestrade could see Sherlock about to turn another corner. He sighed and picked up the pace, ignoring his tightening chest.

However, Sherlock suddenly reappeared at the other end of the alleyway, throwing himself at the ground behind the wall. A _fireball_ hit the unprotected wall where he had been s moment ago.

Sherlock used the momentum he had from his fall to keep moving, rolling and ending up crouching on the ground. He swang up, and gave Lestrade and Donovan a mischievous smile, causing Donovan to shiver.

Lestrade was just frozen, unsure of what was going on but quite sure that there was danger and something beyond his understanding involved. Sherlock was now standing at the edge of the wall, peeking around every few seconds or so.

'Lestrade!' Sherlock called, unfreezing Lestrade's limbs and giving him the ability to walk over and stand behind Sherlock.

'Where's John?' Lestrade whispered.

'In there. I need your…assistance to help him get out with your killer.'

'John's in an alleyway with a killer, who's got some sort of fireball making device by himself and you think you only need my _assistance _to get him out alive!'

'Was there a question there in all that ranting, Inspector?'

Lestrade raised a finger ready to lecture Sherlock when three gunshots rang out in the alleyway where John was. Sherlock stiffened at the sound, his eyes widening slightly.

Then he turned and dashed into the alleyway, ignoring the danger he was in.

'Sherlock!' Lestrade hissed, 'Come back!' When Sherlock didn't appear he stuck his head quickly around the corner.

Only to be shocked at the scene before him.

Sherlock was patting John down, checking for injuries, _concern_ in his eyes at the closest end of the dead-end alley. John was shaken and a little singed, but otherwise looked to be fine. This wasn't what had shocked Lestrade…well wasn't mostly what had shocked him.

It was the dead body of a woman, slumped against the wall at the other end of the alley. It was quite clear how she had died, the three gunshots in her torso obvious evidence even Scotland Yard couldn't miss.

Except she was holding the gun. John hadn't had time to move, let alone plant the gun firmly in her hand before Lestrade and now Donovan had come around the corner. And Lestrade would bet his last dollar there wouldn't be a single one of John's fingerprints on the gun or a single powder burn on John's hand.

So how had the woman shot herself, from three metres away? And why on Earth was she so wet?

* * *

'How did you do it?' Sherlock asked.

It was three hours after the shooting in the alleyway and John and Sherlock had only just gotten home. The police had held John for as long as they could, despite both Lestrade and Donovan declaring he couldn't have done it. They had been forced to let him go when they could find no power burns on John's fingers and the finger prints on the gun matched only the deceased.

John was waiting for the autopsy where they were sure to kind the broken ribs, consistent with being pushed into a wall with the force of…well a waterfall. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain that one. Perhaps Mycroft could help…

'John!'

John jumped, startled out of his thoughts by Sherlock's cry. The pillow on his lap jumped as well but it kept going, narrowly missing Cat.

'What?' he snapped.

'You ignored my question.' Sherlock sounded slightly hurt.

'Sorry. What was it again?'

'How did you shot the witch?' Sherlock huffed, clearly unhappy at having to repeat himself.

'Umm… she conjured a gun, aimed it and shot. I sent the bullets back at her using magic. Sorry, where's the mystery here?'

Sherlock ignored his last comment. 'Of course, your telekinesis. I thought so, but it's nice to have you confirm it.' He studied John for a second, and then smiled. 'Dodging bullets. Something to work with.'

Sherlock leapt up at this statement and quickly located John's gun. Still smiling at the idea of an experiment he pointed it at where John was sitting.

Only to find John had disappeared.

'That's cheating!'

John's disembodied laughter filled the flat.


	14. John Waston's Nightmare

**Author's Note: Updating because it's Halloween here (barely!) and this has been sitting on my hard drive for years. Thanks to PipMer for reading over it and talking me into posting it. It's a Nightmare before Christmas crossover, just so you know. I don't know if knowing that movie is required... it helps.**

* * *

'Sherlock…I would like you to meet a friend of mine.'

Sherlock looked up from his current experiment, saw that John was standing next to a tall man who was hiding in the shadows then went straight back to work.

'Sherlock.'

'Not interested.'

'Do you want me to scare him John?' the unknown man asked. It was such an odd comment that Sherlock looked up again. The man had moved out of the shadows and Sherlock found himself blinking in confusion.

'Sherlock, this is my friend Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King. Jack, this is my friend Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.'

The skeleton broke out into a huge grin and offered the still shocked Sherlock his hand. 'It's horrible to meet you.' He said cheerfully. 'Absolutely horrible.' He shook Sherlock's hand vigorously. Sherlock managed to blink away his shock and confusion and examined Jack closely. He was tall, very, very tall in fact and was wearing a black pin stripe suit. He had a bat as a tie and appeared to be an animated skeleton. _Curious_, Sherlock thought.

'And how did you and John meet?' he asked standing up to gain some height. As it was, he now only came up to Jack's shoulders, making this one of the rare times Sherlock had to look up to look someone in the eyes.

'We met in Afghanistan.' John provided.

'Oh was that the name of that lovely little place.' Jack said. 'I hated it, it took me weeks to get the sand out of my bones.'

'Lovely?' Sherlock asked confused.

Jack misunderstood him. 'Yes it was. I was ever so glad to get back to Halloween Town.'  
Sherlock was lost in this conversation and he didn't like the new feeling. 'And where is Halloween Town?'

'I thought you wanted to know how we met.' John smirked.

'I do.'

'Well let Jack explain that. Then he'll explain Halloween Town to you.'

'I will?' Jack asked. 'Of course I will.' He said at John's look. 'Besides, it is a story and stories need to start at the beginning.'

'It was Halloween…'

_Halloween, A secret location in Afghanistan, 2007_

John hated Halloween. Although it wasn't celebrated in England his men still used the holiday as an excuse to play childish pranks on another. Occasionally (read always) the pranks would get out of hand and John would be left as the doctor, to clean up the mess. And then as the superior officer he would have to punish those involved while hiding their stupidity from higher ranking officers. These were his friends, he didn't wish to see any of them ruin their careers over something silly.

But just once, he wished they could see what they were doing was stupid.

'I wish I could give them a taste of their own medicine.' He whispered on Halloween morning. There was no one around and he had no idea why he had said it.

'You called?' a voice asked from the shadows. John jumped, grabbing his gun and pointing it in the direction of the voice that spoke.

'Who's there?' he called.

'Jack Skellington, Pumpkin King. Shouldn't you check who you're summoning before you  
summon them?' the voice replied. Out of the shadows stepped a very tall, grinning skeleton.

John began to lower his gun. 'Pumpkin King…I remember being taught that. You're one of the leaders of one of the holiday worlds, aren't you?'

_('Holiday worlds?' Sherlock asked, unable to stop himself._

_'I'll explain it later, now listen to Jack's story!' John replied)_

'That's me.' The skeleton said with a bigger grin.

'The one who stole Christmas.' John continued.

Jack's smile faded a little. 'Yes. Is there a reason you summoned me? You do know it's  
Halloween, the busiest day of my year?'

'Oh yes. Well I didn't actually mean to summon you, but since you're here…could I ask a favour?'

Jack's eyes narrowed. 'What kind of favour?' he said in what John would call a creepy voice.

'One that involves scaring grown men and having a witch owe you one.' John replied.

Jack's grin returned full force. 'Of course! What would you like me to do?'

John stepped forward and Jack lowered his head so John could whisper his idea in Jack's ear.  
Or, where Jack's ear would have been.

Once he had heard the idea Jack stepped back, completely delighted. 'Consider it done, my friend!'

_('What…'_

_'You'll see! Now shhh!' )_

By that evening there had been a dozen pranks, gradually escalating until two people had ended up with superficial cuts and some minor bruising. Captain Watson had called all of them into the mess hall to berate them.

'This happens every year and I'm getting tired of it. Having to punish you for the same thing year after year is getting on my nerves.'

'Sir, we're just letting off a little steam.' One brave solider replied.

'No, you're not. Letting off a little steam is minor pranks like hands in water and moving items. Not major pranks that leave people in hospital. Now every year I, or a superior cover for you passing those injuries off as accidents but that can't keep happening!'

'You can't punish us, you don't know who's responsible!' one anonymous voice called out.

'I have a very good idea who is responsible, but if I have to punish everyone I will.' With that, John stormed out of the mess hall, leaving the men alone.

'Is he serious?' one new private, Thomas Bens asked.

'Probably.' Another private, James Quiggle replied. 'Captain Watson isn't known for making idle threats.' They all stared at the doorway John had just left though in silence.

'Excuse me,' a voice at the back asked. 'Can you tell me the time?'

Ivan Griggins, the man in front of the voice answered. 'Half Eight.'

'Thank you.'

Ivan turned to look at the man who had spoken and then screamed. Instead of a solider sitting behind him, there was a skeleton.

James, who was at the front, turned to ask what was wrong and joined in the screaming. Like a Mexican wave, the scream spread across the room.

'Why thank you!' the skeleton said. 'And now, for your enjoyment.' He waved his hand and every light in the room went out. Two seconds later they came back on, but the tables were covered in rats and spiders and snakes. The screaming intensified. No one noticed the skeleton  
had vanished

The lights flashed off again and when they returned the creatures were gone, but the doors were locked.

Standing outside John could hear the man inside crying to be let out and banging on the doors. He turned to Jack, who had appeared beside him.

'Jack…'

'Don't worry. You know the rules. 'No one may be harmed by a Halloween Town scare'' he recited. 'They'll be fine. Now you can go in and do whatever it was you wanted to do.' He said, with a wave of his hand.

John caught the hand and shook it. 'Thank you Jack. If you ever need a favour…'

'I'll drop in.' With a final grin, Jack faded into the shadows.

John steeled his shoulders and prepared to enter the mess hall.

_Halloween, 221 Baker St London, 2010_

'An interesting tale.' Sherlock said when they were finished. 'Now John, you said…'

'I know. The holiday worlds are these towns in another plane that represent every holiday. It is the job of each world's residents to prepare the world, the real world for their particular holiday. For Halloween, the world is Halloween Town and it's ruled by the Pumpkin King who is Jack.'

Sherlock gave Jack another look. 'So you're royalty. How did you get that position?'

'It's a long story.' Jack said. 'Involving dying and a boogieman. But that's not why I'm here.'

'Why are you here?' Sherlock asked, then felt like hitting himself as he realised. 'Of course. You're here to get John's help in return.'

Jack looked sheepish. 'Yes. Normally I just pop in for a visit on Halloween, to see the witch who was powerful enough to summon a holiday leader by mistake and has such great ideas for Halloween but this time…'

'It's okay Jack. I knew you would need my help sometime.' John replied.

Jack looked slightly offended. Which made him look a little bit scary, even to Sherlock. 'What do you mean by that?'

'I saw the news the previous Christmas. Stealing another person's holiday, really?'

'I may have gotten a little carried away when I discovered Christmas.' Jack said his sheepish look back.

'A little?' John said incredulously.

'A lot.' Jack grudgingly admitted.

'Discovered Christmas?' Sherlock picked up on the inconsistency in what Jack had said.  
'Didn't you already know…'

'Yes.' Interrupted Jack. 'I knew Christmas existed. But dimly, as something nameless that happened every year after I was done with the real world. But I know all about it now.' He finished with a smile.

John and Sherlock just exchanged glances and somehow John was picked to speak.

'Right…what was the reason you were here again?'

Jack looked throw for a second before he remember. 'Ah yes. You see, everyone in Halloween Town is dead. Well, expect Sally but she doesn't quite count as alive.'

'I knew that.' John said.

'Who is Sally?' Sherlock asked, focusing on the detail he didn't know.

'My…well that's the problem. Sally is my girlfriend, the love of my death. And we want to get married.'

'Congratulations!' John said. 'You didn't mention you were engaged last Halloween.'

'Because we weren't. But now we are and we want a Halloween wedding. It's all planned, and happening tonight.'

'Congratulations again Jack, but I don't quite see why you need my help.' John said.

'Here's the thing. In order for the marriage to be official we need two witnesses…and they can't be dead. I've tried to ask Sandy Claws but Christmas is too close for him to consider helping and none of the other worlds will have anything to do with me. They won't even let me in.'

'So you want us to be your living witnesses to your marriage?' John asked.

'I knew you would do it!' Jack cried. 'Come on, we're running late!' he threw an arm over both John and Sherlock's shoulders. They both felt a pull and watched as the world around them turned black while they flew backwards. John slammed his eyes shut to try to ward off the dizziness.

When he opened them he was standing in a graveyard, just in front of a gate. Sherlock was beside him but Jack was nowhere to be seen.

'Jack?' he called once his stomach had settled back into its usual position.

'Yes?' a voice said right in his ear. Only years of dealing with Jack kept John from jumping or reacting in a negative way. Like with a punch that would knock Jack's skull off.

'Well come on! You're going to make me late to my wedding!' Jack pushed between them and began striding along the path towards where John assumed the town was. With a small shrug to Sherlock, John followed him.

The town was the darkest, creepiest, scariest place John had ever seen. He made a note to mention that to Jack, he would love the compliment. They had lost sight of him ages ago, his long strides taking him quickly out of sight. By the time they reached the fountain in the middle of town he was nowhere to be seen.

There was, however a short man in a pointy hat with a name tag reading 'Mayor' and a spider bow tie. Despite the man's odd face with a spirally eye, John was able gather the courage to go up to him. He hadn't spotted them as his focus was on a bunch of men…monsters fixing some sort of decoration.

'Excuse me?' John asked. The man turned to look at him and as soon as he did, the head spun around, showing the back of his head. It had another face on it, which while having normal eyes was grey and clearly meant to be sad.

'Who are you, and how did a living person get here?' he cried.

'We're here with Jack.' John quickly said to reassure the man. 'I owe Jack a favour and we're here to witness his wedding as the living witnesses he needs.'

At this the man whizzed back to the smiling face. 'Excellent! Come on, come on. Let's get you two seated.'

As they followed the man Sherlock whispered in John's ear. 'He's a politician but clearly has no self-confidence. I'm guessing he lets Jack run the town.'

'From what I've heard, yes. He does give another meaning to the idea of a two faced politician though.' He joked.

Sherlock smirked.

Ten minutes later they were seated in the front row of what looked to be a town hall. They were alone in the row as the Mayor had mentioned it was for family only, like a traditional wedding…except the groom had no family and the bride's only family was with her, getting her ready. And was going to give her away.

John did remember Jack once saying that he didn't need to remember his living family as the entire town was his family but he could see why that may have been a problem for seating. But he couldn't see why he and Sherlock had to be front row… every monster in the place was staring at them and it was making him a little nervous.

And there were a lot of monsters. There was a clown, whose face seemed to be coming off at the edges, a devil who kept his eyes entirely on Sherlock, a few witches who looked exactly like every stereotype John knew, an inaccurate werewolf and a corpse family. That's not including the other monsters that John could identify.

And they were all looking at the living people in the front row as if they were some kind of freak. John could hear them muttering, saying things like 'how did the living get here?', 'what are they here for?' and 'how could Jack allow this?'.

John was just about to go look for Jack when he came in from a side door with the Mayor, who had left the room once Sherlock and John were seated. As soon as he entered the townsfolk began to cry out to him, complaining about the living people in the front row.

'My friends, my friends! These people are my guests here…' Jack began.

'How can that be?!' cried the werewolf. 'The living aren't allowed in Halloween Town!'

'Yeah!' the townsfolk cried.

'And why do they get the best seats?' what looked to be a sea monster cried. The people kept calling out questions over another, the noise level in the room rising and rising.

'Okay, one at a time!' Jack yelled above the noise, but no one listened. Resigned, he took a deep breath and let out a bone curling scream, scaring the townspeople into silence.

'Firstly, they are here to witness the wedding. Apparently, there's a law that says it's not official unless witnessed by two people, who must be living. So I got help from Santy Claws to get them into Halloween Town.'

'Why them?' a vampire asked.

'I owe Jack a favour.' John said, finally getting the courage to speak. 'And he's a friend… I wouldn't want to miss his most…horrifying wedding. It looks like it was planned very well.'

John's distraction worked and all of the townsfolk began to smile under the compliment. Very quickly, they descended on John wanting to know which part of the wedding he had seen so far he liked best. Sherlock smirked as John tried to ward them off and ended up with a corpse child in his lap, a mummy child on his shoulder and multiple women all begging him to tell them his favourite bit. Even Jack smiled a bit, before the nerves that had made him forget John and Sherlock returned.

He breathed deeply as the Mayor suddenly spoke. 'To your seats everyone! The wedding is about to begin.'

There was a scramble for seats and somehow John ended up with all the children in the hall begging to sit with him. At a nod from their parents he allowed them to sit between him and the mutinous looking Sherlock.

Jack took his position beside the Mayor who was officiating the ceremony and all eyes turned to the back of the room. The band began to play what was the creepiest version of the bridal march John had ever heard. Slowly, the doors opened and a red haired rag doll began to walk down the aisle, a man with a beak and steel head in a wheel chair beside her. He was holding her hand and being pushed by a very similar looking woman with a furry scarf.

The bride was wearing white, which shocked John. He had expected…well he wasn't sure what he had expected. But she looked gorgeous in a full length white gown that was very old fashioned but looked wonderful with her red hair. It had what worked to be spider webs sown into it in silk with small beaded spiders on it. There were tiny pumpkins all over the dress and her veil seemed to be made of spider's web. It was a very spooky wedding dress and yet John was sure that was what the dress maker had been aiming for. John searched his memory for her name but seeing all the monsters had driven it right out of his mind.

Finally she reached Jack and in a very symbolic gesture the wheelchair man placed her hand in Jack's bone one. With a sad smile the pair moved to sit in the front row, leaving Jack and his bride alone before the Mayor.

The ceremony began.

An hour later John was standing next to Sherlock enjoying what was the liveliest wedding reception he had ever been to. Even though the food and drink wasn't edible (for the living, Jack had been quick to warn them), John had been polite and was holding an undrunk drink. He had been asked to dance by at least a dozen monsters both male and female and he still couldn't remember a single name. Even Sherlock had been asked for a dance, and he had agreed to it much to John's shock. But it had been a disaster and no one had asked him to dance since so John wasn't sure how selfless the move had been. Whenever John wasn't dancing he was being interrogated by the two witches, who couldn't believe he could be a witch himself. It had taken a few small magics to get them to believe him (and he wasn't sure how magic worked here but it did and that was that) and now they were fascinated with him. He was currently hiding from them with Sherlock but they had found him last time…

'John! John!' Jack suddenly appeared by his side, dragging his red headed bride with him. 'I would like you to meet someone. John, this is Sally Skellington, my wife.' He said with a huge grin. 'And Sally, this is John Watson my mortal friend.'

'I'm very horrified to meet you.' Sally said softly. 'And who is this?' she asked pointing to Sherlock.

'This is my friend, Sherlock Holmes.' Sally offered him her hand and with a small glance at John Sherlock took it. However he must have grabbed it too hard as it suddenly fell off. Sherlock's eyes were slightly wide as he lifted the disembodied hand up.

Sally was embarrassed. 'I'm so sorry.' She reached for the hand and after a moment's hesitation, Sherlock handed it back. He watched in fascination as she grabbed a needle from behind her ear and sewed the hand back on.

Jack noticed the look. He turned to John with a questioning look. 'He's a scientist.' John asked the look. 'He's fascinated with anything strange and he loves experimenting.'

Jack's face lit up. 'Have you met Dr Finklestein yet?' he questioned.

'No, we haven't. Which one was he?'

'He is my creator.' Sally answered.

'You mean your father?' Sherlock asked

'No, my creator.' Sally looked a little sad Sherlock looked confused for a moment as he processed this, then a huge smile spread over his face.

'Creator! I have to meet this man. John-'

'Come with me.' Jack said, clearly delighted at Sherlock's enthusiasm

Jack led them through the guests, somehow managing to avoid all the witches and monsters who kept asking (demanding) John to dance with them. It was probably his scary profile that allowed him to do it.

He stopped when he reached the duck billed man who had given Sally away. 'Dr Finklestein.'

'Jack, my boy!' the doctor said. 'I would have thought you would be with Sally.'

'I will be. I just wanted to introduce you to my mortal friends. John, Sherlock, this is Dr  
Finklestein; Dr Finklestein this is John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.'

The doctor gave John and Sherlock a searching look. He opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock cut before he could say anything.

'Sally said you were her creator. What exactly does that mean?'

'Exactly what it means. I am her creator, I made her with my own two hands, brought her to life with my ideas.' He said, irritated.

Sherlock broke out into a large grin. 'Fascinating. How did you manage to create life? You would have had to use electricity, I'm sure but how… unless you added some form of formula-'

'Yes to stop the heart from only restarting and never beating.' The doctor finished. He eyed  
Sherlock with a pleased look. 'You are a scientist.'

'Yes.'

'But limited by the means of the living.' Dr Finklestein continued as if he hadn't spoken. 'I wonder…' he pulled out some sheet of paper from a pocket in his wheelchair and showed it to Sherlock. Sherlock's face lit up and he read greedily.

'But won't that make that unstable?' he said and John knew Sherlock would be distracted by the doctor for a long while now. Smiling, he turned to where Jack had been only to find him gone.

In his place were three small children, all dressed as some kind of monster. One was a witch, another a devil and the third was a skull. They were staring at John openly having no concerns about manners.

'Who are you?' the witch asked.

'I'm John Watson.'

'You're not dead.' The skull stated.

'No he's not and I don't want any of you to pull any pranks on him!' Jack appeared behind the trio causing everyone, including John, to jump.

'Jack we would never-' the witch said sweetly.

Jack roared. The trio froze for a moment, then scampered. John watched them go with bemusement.

'Jack-'

'Sorry about that. Those three are the best trick or treaters in Halloween Town but sometimes they don't know the difference between a joke and something worse. Some of their pranks…well they may not hurt the dead but I don't know what they would do to the living.' Jack explained.

'Oh…thanks then.'

'No problem. Now, there's someone I want you to meet!' Jack grabbed John's arm and dragged  
him to the other side of the reception.

There, standing at the edge of the party was a fat man who John instantly recognised. Dressed in his typical red and white, it was clear it was Santa Claus who was standing there.

'Sandy Claws! I thought you couldn't make it?' Jack said.

'I am sorry Jack, but I really can't. I'm just popping in to congratulate you. Now, who's this? You aren't dead.' He said to John.

'No, I'm here as one of Jack's living witnesses-'

'Is that why you wanted me here?' Santa said to Jack.

Jack shrugged. 'Part of the reason, yes. But it's fine now because John was able to help! Which reminds me, I had better get you back.'

John looked confused. 'Back? To our world you mean?'

'Yes. I can only access the real world on a holiday and Halloween ends in ten minutes.'  
John bit back the slight panic that flew through him at that comment. 'Right. I'll go find Sherlock and we'll leave.'

Jack grinned.

Finding Sherlock had been easier said than done but John managed it and they ended up standing in 221B Baker Street at two to midnight. Sherlock was sulking because he had been enjoying Dr Finklestein's company.

'So, I'll see you next Halloween?' John asked Jack before he left.

'Why? You don't owe me anything.'

'I thought we were friends-'

'Then of course I will.' Jack said with a grin. 'I'll see if Dr Finklestein can come. Or I'll just bring you two with me to Halloween Town again. I'm sure the witches would like that.'

John moved to hit Jack but the clock struck midnight and Jack faded out. John's fist therefore hit the sofa harmlessly. He scowled.

'That is your normal Halloween?' Sherlock suddenly asked.

'Spooky wedding? No. Hanging out with Jack? Yes.'

Sherlock looked thoughtful. 'I think I may like this holiday.'


End file.
